I Know You in My Soul
by RavenclawGenius
Summary: Bechloe: The love was there; it was the timing that hindered them. But sometimes- Sometimes, they got it right. And they always find each other again, anyway.
1. Graduation

_She got in. _

_Chloe can't believe she got in. _

_But, God, she'd worked so hard for it._

_She'd spent countless, seemingly endless nights in the library, burying stress and exhaustion beneath coffee and energy pills and aluminum cans of Red Bull, snuck between classes and Bellas practices and seminars and exams – and it had finally paid off for her, because _Chloe got in_._

_It's not Harvard, but Chloe had never really liked Boston much, anyway, and she hadn't even applied. She could pass on the lobster, thanks. But UPenn? Yeah, Chloe could definitely get on board with an endless supply of hoagies and Philly cheesesteaks. And she could totes rock that Eagle green, too._

"_Well?"_

"_I got in!" Chloe squeaks her reply as some of the shock wears off, whirling to face her impatiently lingering roommate. "I mean, I wanted it, and I hoped it would happen, but, Bree, _I got in!_"_

"_Oh my God! Chloe, that's fantastic!" Aubrey exclaims, jolting forward to envelop Chloe in a tight hug. "That's- Oh my God, that's amazing, Chlo!"_

"_I can't believe it," Chloe shakes her head, red curls quivering over her cheeks and shoulders, and a wide grin gluing across her mouth. "I can't- Bree, this is… I don't even know!"_

"_It's incredible," Aubrey beams, pulling away just far enough to hold Chloe's shoulders in her palms. "I'm so proud of you!"_

"_Thanks," Chloe breathes, happy and incredulous. "I just- Oh my God, I have to call my mom!" She remembers belatedly. "And my brothers and sisters, and – oh! I need to tell Uncle Dave, too! And I have to tell –"_

_Chloe cut herself off, her grin slipping tentatively from her face, melting into a frown that shouldn't be possible – not today; not with this news._

"_Chloe?" Aubrey asks, concerned._

"_Beca," Chloe finishes on a pained, broken whisper. "I have to tell Beca."_

* * *

Graduation, Chloe decides, is a torturous event.

She remembers her fifth grade graduation (and that _is_ a real thing, Chloe will insist if asked), and it had been mostly okay – except that Chloe had been a very hyperactive child, and she'd spent most of it bouncing eagerly in her seat and flashing wide smiles at the camera that her parents wielded over in the third row of the gymnasium bleachers.

When her high school graduation came around, Chloe had realized (with very little surprise) that she hadn't actually changed all that much. It was an outdoor ceremony, and there's something to be said for a change of venue – but Chloe hadn't really been that fond of it, because it had been hot outside in Maryland in the middle of June, and very humid, and Chloe had spent much of _that_ graduation fanning herself with the leaflet in her hand. And when she hadn't been using it to cool herself off, she'd been folding it into odd, made-up origami creatures between fidgeting, anxious fingers until the last student (Ben Wexley) had strutted across the stage with a premeditated, slightly obnoxious Native American cry as homage to the school's mascot.

(Obnoxious though it may have been, Chloe echoed it back to him – along with most every other student who had walked the stage that day.)

College, Chloe now thinks, isn't much different from that. She knows it must be awful to wait until the end for your name to be called (poor Aubrey is looking more than a little green around the gills, six rows behind her and gnawing at her lower lip), but it's sort of a grueling experience, either way. 'Beale' is pretty high up on the list of graduates, so Chloe hadn't had to wait long for her name – but waiting for everyone else is no less excruciating.

Because Chloe is finished.

She's been handed her diploma (or its holder, anyway, because the actual piece of paper will be mailed to her home address sometime over the next couple of weeks), and all Chloe really wants to do is get out of this stifling blue graduation gown – because Georgia in May is still much worse than Maryland in June. But instead, Chloe is watching a bunch of students she's never even met before half-trip across the stage to accept their handshakes and diplomas, as well.

Chloe knows that's how this works, but that doesn't exactly keep her leg from springing, or her fingers from repeatedly smoothing out (nonexistent) wrinkles in her robes.

It's leaving Chloe with more time to reflect than she actually thinks she wants.

* * *

_Chloe is crying before she even reaches Beca's dorm._

_She knows that she should be happy – and she is; Chloe really, truly is, because she'd worked hard and chased the dream, and she's finally, _finally_ achieved it – but there's this- _thing_. There's this thing that she has here, in Barden, and she doesn't want to leave it; she doesn't want to leave it at all, because Chloe doesn't know how she _can_._

_Chloe doesn't know how she can possibly fathom the notion of leaving Beca Mitchell._

_They haven't talked about it. They've never once talked about it, or hinted at it, or even teased around it. It's just this- _thing_ they have, and it's always there, simmering in the background, and boiling, and building, and overtaking everything that they do._

_They both know it's there; it's recognized, by each of them._

_But they never talk about it._

_It's worked for them. Sort of. In an admittedly strange way. _

_Because instead of words, there's a lazy, creeping smile that only Chloe is ever graced with. Instead of words, there's an affectionate sigh into the DJ's neck, and a soft, tiny hand that fits snugly into Chloe's own. Instead of words, there are gentle, black-polished nails sweeping through Chloe's hair when she cries. _

_Instead of words, there's this- _thing. _There's this silent, overpowering intimacy that's never spoken of – not by them; not _to_ them; only ever around them, and always left ignored._

_But Chloe no longer knows how to function without it._

"_Chloe?" Beca asks when she gets to the door. And she's worried; it's in the crease of her brow and the single, hesitant step she takes toward Chloe, her palm suspended in the air between them like she isn't sure if (for once) the redhead actually wants the physical comfort that Beca is immediately prepared to offer._

_Chloe can't speak, though she tries her hardest with a working jaw and parted lips._

_But the words never come._

_It's okay, though, because Beca takes one glance at the piece of paper – the letter Chloe had received not half an hour ago – rustling between Chloe's quivering fingers, and she smiles. It's slight, and barely a quirk at the edge of her mouth, and it's sad – it's so, incontestably sad – but it's genuine, nevertheless._

"_You got in," Beca says softly._

"_I got in," Chloe sniffs pathetically, turning watery eyes to meet the silver-blue of Beca's that Chloe has always treasured (always, even before they ever spoke). "I got in, Becs."_

"_Come here," Beca urges, reaching for Chloe's hip and tugging her into Beca's mostly-vacated dorm room. "Come inside, Chloe."_

_Chloe follows blindly; follows Beca's gentle nudge at her hip, and her gentle, comforting voice. Chloe just follows, because she doesn't know what else to do, and she doesn't know what to say, or how to say it._

Especially_ how to say it._

_But Chloe never needs to say anything. Not a single damn word. Because Beca eases Chloe onto her bed, and doesn't even put up a token protest when Chloe's leg throws across her own; she doesn't even groan (in that adorably uncomfortable way that she does) when Chloe's staggered, uneven sobs waver across her collar. Beca just strums those black-chipped nails through the threads of Chloe's hair, softly scraping over her scalp until there's nothing left of Chloe's sobs but heavy, defeated puffs of air._

"_Congratulations, by the way," Beca eventually says, and there's a dry playfulness in her words that – even now, even in this unanticipated state of misery – makes Chloe chuckle._

_It's subdued, at first, but it evolves; evolves into a giggle, and then a twitter, and then a full-bellied cacophony of laughter._

_Beca tenders a crooked grin down at her, and pulls mindlessly at a strand of Chloe's hair. "So, Philly, huh? What's even out there?"_

"_Football," Chloe answers, feeling lighter – tired, but relieved, somehow, even if she doesn't understand how that happened at all. "And hockey. Amazing food and – "_

"_And UPenn," Beca murmurs into the crown of Chloe's head._

"_And UPenn," Chloe sighs, drained._

_A moment of silence follows – there's acceptance, and sadness, and an inevitable deflation enclosed within it, settling uncomfortably over each of them – but then Beca earnestly whispers, "You're gonna be great, Chlo."_

"_Becs, I – "_

_Beca shakes her head, and Chloe only knows it because she's turned to prop her chin atop her arm, curled over Beca's chest, so that Chloe can peer up at her. _

"_No, Chloe," Beca says. "I'll- uh… I'll miss you, y'know. But this is good. I mean, it sucks, but it's good. It's what you wanted. And you earned it. I'll miss you," she repeats, and – just for a second; just one, telling, cherished second – her honest, teary eyes meet Chloe's before they flicker away again, "but this is good. And you earned it. And you're gonna be awesome."_

"_I'm gonna be _aca_-awesome," Chloe asserts, with a smile that, yes, is duller than usual – but she fuses as much emotion into it as possible._

_Because Chloe doesn't say it (she doesn't need to say it; not to Beca, because Beca– she already knows), but she's going to miss Beca, too._

_Chloe can't think about it, much, because if she does then she'll surely dissolve into sobs (and, maybe, eventually, into nothingness, too), but, God, she's going to miss Beca Mitchell like oxygen she's been deprived of._

"_Are you even allowed to say that, anymore?" Beca teases._

_It's a diversion – and not a particularly subtle one, either – but Chloe is grateful for it. She can't stand much more of that look in Beca's eyes, and she definitely can't take the serpentine grip that her emotions have over her heart, because it's already hard for her to breathe without that crushing weight in her chest._

"_Once a Bella, always a Bella, Becs," Chloe gives back, though the rasp in her voice gives away the cries that tore from her throat before it, and the feelings that are, even now, still clouding the passage. "So I can make aca- references until I'm laying on my deathbed."_

"_You mean this acapella shit is gonna follow me for the rest of my _life_?" Beca groans theatrically. "No way, Beale. I can recover from a year or two of negative badassery, but I can't make up for a lifetime of it. I'm pretty sure the big guy upstairs, if he even exists, will smite me before I even get to _think_ about those pretty, pearly gates."_

"_It's okay," Chloe giggles, stretching her free hand upward to sweep her thumb softly across Beca's cheekbone. "The aca-gods will keep you safe, and then, when you die, you'll be airlifted into this amazing, musical version of heaven where everyone makes music with their mouths _all the time_. Isn't that the greatest?"_

_Beca narrows her eyes suspiciously, before shaking her head and muttering, "I think there's actually something wrong with you. It's a good thing you're heading out to Philly, with all those magnificent doctors; maybe someone out there can finally diagnose you."_

_Chloe laughs delightedly and kisses her cheek._

_And those are the last words that they exchange that night. They do not sleep – not even for a few, drowsy minutes. They just lay there, reveling in each other's company, and committing every moment of it to memory._

* * *

After graduation comes a rush of hugs (which Chloe, surprisingly – to anyone else, anyway – does _not_ initiate) and congratulatory praise between her friends, and even a couple of graduates who just happened to be fortunate enough to have shared a class with Chloe.

She finds Aubrey almost instantly (the blonde actually _squeals_ an elated _"We did it!"_ into Chloe's ear) and their parents each move to take a set of photos. But it isn't hard to tell – it can't be, because Aubrey picks up on it basically right away, and Chloe's mom and dad do, too – that Chloe is anxious to be somewhere else.

"Chloe, honey, you look like someone's dropped a spider down your shirt. Sit still for one more picture for me, baby," her mom, Leina, coos, in a tone that Chloe recognizes as overly indulgent.

Chloe almost rolls her eyes, and fondly thinks of Beca when it occurs to her, but she stifles it, and offers a blinding beam at the camera like she's told (because she owes her parents this much, at least, for not only raising her, but paying her way through college, too).

"Thank you," her mom sighs out, satisfied. "Now, tell us what you're so eager to get to."

But Chloe's already turned her back and begun a rapid dash across campus before her mother has finished speaking, because Chloe's fulfilled her picture-posing obligations already, so she only calls out over her shoulder, "I'll meet you at the hotel in the morning! I have to find Beca!"

It's true.

Chloe can't leave without seeing Beca, and the DJ hadn't been at graduation, because Chloe hadn't had enough tickets to distribute, between both of her parents and two of her siblings – randomly chosen from a hat, of course, just to be fair. She's all packed, and all of her stuff – or what's left of it, that hasn't already been shipped – has been shoved into her car.

Beca is all that's left in Barden, for Chloe.

She's out of breath when she reaches the brunette's dorm, and something both terrible and terrifying has wormed into Chloe's gut, but she steadfastly ignores it with unwavering determination.

Because she has something to do.

It's stupid (probably the stupidest idea that Chloe's ever even had, and she's had a lot of not-so-brilliant ideas in the past), but Chloe has to do it. She's overwhelmed by the need to fulfill this last wish before her departure, so she forgets to knock and barges into Beca's dorm without warning.

It doesn't matter, though. It doesn't matter at all, because Beca's waiting for her, leaned back against her desk with her fingers curling around the edges and her head lowered to eye the floor. The room around her has been packed away, mostly stuffed into her room at her dad's house, but the sheets are still on the bed and her mixing equipment is still sprawled over the desk, because Beca isn't leaving Barden for another three days.

But Beca smiles, relieved and happy and sad, all at once, when she catches sight of Chloe.

But if Chloe had needed more encouragement, that little smile would have been enough. That little smile would have been everything that Chloe needed.

Chloe doesn't wait; she doesn't think or evaluate or consider, because nothing good would come of it (nothing that Chloe wants more than this, anyway). She just launches herself into Beca's arms, slinging one arm haphazardly around her neck and another around her back, like she has a thousand times before.

And then Chloe kisses her (like she's _never_ done before).

It's not an easy affair, for a first kiss; it's hard, and hot, and desperate, and all the more passionate for all of it, lips smashing together and tongues urgently seeking a taste of something so, so wanted, but never before sought after; not before today.

And when Chloe pulls back – just a fraction; just enough to lean her forehead into Beca's and stare into those cripplingly compelling eyes – she's more winded than before, because that was nothing like she'd expected. It was heat, and desire, and unspoken but requited love, all folding together to create a melody of ardor and pure, unmatched dedication that she never _could_ possibly have expected, and Chloe can't even breathe.

She can't _breathe_.

But she somehow manages to whisper, anyway.

"Just tonight. I want- I want one night, Becs," she pleads frantically, tears swimming in her eyes. "One night for us. Just one night, for us to pretend that I'm not leaving in the morning; for us to pretend that we didn't meet at the absolute _worst_ time possible; for us to pretend that we don't have the shittiest timing in the whole goddamn universe. I want one night for us to pretend that loving each other isn't the worst plan that we've ever had – because, God, Beca, this was never the plan at all. But it happened anyway. It happened anyway, and I just- I just need one night. One night, for us, Becs, okay?"

"Yes."

It's not wordy.

It's not a rambling speech, like Chloe's, and it's not- anything. It's not anything, that is, but honest, and blunt. And so _Beca_ that it makes Chloe's heart tremble in her chest.

Because it's an honest agreement, and, though the words aren't mirrored back at her verbatim, it's an honest echo of Chloe's declaration of love, and Chloe doesn't need the words to know that Beca feels it, too.

"Yes?" Chloe asks, her mouth brushing over Beca's softly as she speaks, her arm tightening, somehow, to pull the DJ closer.

"Yes," Beca repeats, and her palms rise to cup Chloe's cheeks, stroking carefully against the edges of Chloe's mouth before she leans in to touch her lips across it again.

But the kiss that follows isn't at all like before, because now it's nerves, and trembling fingers, and shaky breaths that shudder into unfamiliar mouths. Now it's soft, and sweet, and distantly hesitant, because they've never done this before.

It's impulsive, and reckless, and it's _dangerous_, Chloe knows, but, God, it feels more right than anything else in Chloe's life, and even now she knows that she won't (can't) ever regret it.

Her hands are everywhere – and Beca's are, too – tentatively peeling away layers of clothing (of gowns and heels and skinny jeans and t-shirts and Chucks and a dress beneath the gown, too), until there's nothing covering them but blushes and sweat, and Chloe lowers Beca to the bed.

She hovers overtop of her, panting hard and struck positively dumb by this moment.

Because it was impulsive, and she hadn't planned for any of it – Chloe hadn't planned for any of this _thing _at all – but Beca is beautiful, and flushed, and looking up at Chloe through glittering eyes like she's the prettiest thing that Beca's ever seen, and Chloe wants to remember it.

Chloe wants to be sure that she remembers this, because this might be it; this might be the only time that she ever sees Beca this way, open and trusting and vulnerable beneath her, and this is the most profound moment of Chloe's life.

She needs to remember it.

"I am _nude_," Beca says impatiently, but the words recall another memory – another profound moment in Chloe's life – and she giggles a little, unable to squelch the noise, despite that she doesn't bother to try.

"And this is so much better than the last time I saw you _nude_," she teases, but it's a murmur, too; a tender, earnest whisper that falls over Beca's cheek, and none of this – not Beca's impatience, or her comment, or Chloe's giggle or jest in reply – breaks the intimacy between them.

This thing they have– it's titanium.

It simply cannot be broken.

"Because I can touch you," Beca breathes reverently, and she raises one hand to caringly sweep the curtain of Chloe's hair behind her ear, like she's proving her assertion true. "I can touch you, tonight."

"As much as you want," Chloe mutters sincerely, low, and practically into Beca's mouth before she brings her lips to it again.

It's a gentle push and pull between them; giving and taking in equal parts, sharing everything that they have (everything they've ever had, or known, or felt) without words as fingers trip exploratively across smooth, hot skin.

Chloe finds a sensitive hollow in Beca's hip, and tracks her nails across it, and the DJ hisses a soft, slow breath inward. Chloe feels proud, but it only lasts for a second, because Beca's fingertips stroke softly down her spine, into the dip at her lower back, and Chloe's body reacts, bending lower into Beca's with a heavy shiver as a gasp draws air into her lungs.

"I wondered," Beca murmurs nervously, her mouth slipping along Chloe's jaw. Chloe wonders how she can wonder _anything_, because Chloe can barely think straight, and, in retrospect, she's so lost in this that she isn't even making sense in her own _head_. "I wondered what you'd do, when I touched you; if I'd ever get to touch you at all," Beca rasps, nipping against the weak spot underneath Chloe's ear, and Chloe can barely even _hear her_ over the whir of racing blood. "I wondered," Beca says softly, "if I could make you move that way, and about the sounds you'd make."

Chloe swallows, and shakes her head to stem the tears gathering in her eyes. Because Beca is making a confession; she's surrendering to Chloe and all of the feelings that have traded between them, and it's- powerful.

"Beca," she breathes, "I've wondered, too."

Beca looks like she wants to say more, when she pulls back enough to see Chloe's face, but she doesn't.

She doesn't, because they're forgetting, tonight.

They're pretending.

So Chloe blinks a tear out of the corner of her eye, and as Beca's thumb strokes it away, she vows that it's the last one she'll shed until morning.

And she skims her fingers across Beca's body, grinding into her thigh when Beca releases a hushed moan of approval. Her fingertips gather perspiration, and they feel slick on Beca's flesh, and everything about it is just _so_.

So perfect. So- everything that Chloe ever imagined it could be.

But it gets better. She doesn't know how, and Chloe honestly does not care, but it gets better.

Because when Beca's teeth scrape against her collar, and her fingers curl around Chloe's ass, proffering a gentle squeeze, it's all that Chloe can do not to come right then. But that would be too soon – not that it matters, really, because Chloe has no intention of sleeping tonight, and she's entirely prepared to love every inch of Beca until the sun comes up.

Eventually, though, it becomes too much – and never quite enough.

Chloe wants more; needs it. Because she's memorized most of Beca, now – at least her front (and Chloe _will_ get to her back later, to trace the pads of her fingers across those deliciously intricate tattoos that she's tried, and failed, so many times to recreate in her dreams) – and they're wasting time.

(They don't have that much of it.)

But Beca senses that, too, somehow – the same way they communicate everything else without words, Chloe supposes – because she slips her fingers down Chloe's abs, and glances up at her for permission when she nears her bikini line.

"Yes," Chloe nods fervently. "Yes, Beca."

It's not wordy.

But it's enough, because Beca smiles, slow and lazy and – for the moment, at least – _happy_, and she brings her fingers to Chloe's clit, rubbing easy circles that drive Chloe veritably insane.

"Oh, God," she shudders, her forehead dropping to Beca's. "You feel- so good, Becs."

Beca kisses her mouth, and it's easy (like the circles she's still drawing over Chloe's most sensitive place), and it's so full of love that Chloe's earlier vow not to cry feels entirely too compromised. So Chloe closes her eyes and rolls her hips into Beca's hand, and she moans when Beca's fingers crawl lower, to press inside of her with two sluggish, unhurried digits.

But her eyes pop open again a few moments later, when Beca's fingers curl and brush just barely against _that_ spot, and Chloe gasps, "_Oh._ There, baby. Please, right there," she insists breathlessly, edging her thigh upward to curve into Beca.

Beca groans, and the noise strikes somewhere in Chloe's gut – not in her ears, the way it should; the way it's _supposed_ to – and her hips drop into Beca's palm again.

"Beca," she sighs out.

There's nothing else. Not here; not tonight.

Just Beca.

Just Beca, driving into Chloe; just Chloe, rocking her hips (and her thigh, by consequence) into Beca for long, unforgettable minutes.

And it builds – the emotion; the impending climax – until they're both sobbing for air that never seems to refill properly, and trading whatever breath they actually manage to capture back into the other's mouth.

"You're beautiful, Chloe," Beca whispers, but it breaks. It breaks almost before it even starts, and Chloe only picks up on half of it because she's staring at Beca's lips.

But when Chloe brings her eyes upward, her earlier vow feels a lot like a thoughtless, naïve undertaking, because _no._

No.

Chloe can't _not_ cry. Not when there's a tear – a rare (so very rare), gleaming tear – curving over the rise of Beca's cheek. Because that- that's the most heartbreaking thing that Chloe could possibly imagine.

And she doesn't know how (not with the overwhelming typhoon of depression that overcomes her), but Chloe collapses into Beca, a wet streak drawing down her face even as a hot, satisfied cry falls from her lips in the wake of her unexpected orgasm. And when she brings her thigh into Beca's clit, just one final time before she crumples, Beca comes apart, too.

Chloe doesn't learn the lyrics scrawled on Beca's back that night, or pleat tender kisses along the blooming vine of flowers that stretch across her shoulder. Chloe just sobs, and Beca (eventually, painfully) does, too. They're too sad, too heartbroken and too miserable, to do anything else but hold each other, that night.

And Chloe finally falls asleep, and wakes the next morning, in Beca's tight, protective hold, with a strong arm laced around the DJ's stomach and her face buried into Beca's neck.

* * *

"We'll talk," Chloe promises Beca, standing outside the hotel her parents booked for the weekend, fighting against the swelling of her throat and the moisture in her eyes as her arms curl around Beca's waist and her cheek tucks against the brunette's shoulder. "We'll call, and Skype, and text so much that you'll be sick of me, and you probably won't ever even want to see me again, so this won't hurt so much, and –"

"Sure, Chlo," Beca nods, interrupting a tangent that Chloe knows will soon break her, and Beca smiles – but it's not lazy, or easy, like the one that Chloe adores.

It's hard, and hurt, and so, incontestably sad.

"Every day," Chloe swears. "We'll talk every day, no matter what, okay? I promise."

It's important that she promises. Because Beca– people leave her. And when they leave, they don't come back. And Chloe won't be that. She won't. She can't.

Chloe _will_ come back to her.

Chloe will (she is convinced) _always_ come back for Beca.

"Yeah," Beca clears her throat, and swiftly blinks several times (Chloe knows why, but she won't call her on it; this is hard enough for both of them, anyway). "Yeah, okay. You be safe out there, Beale. And uh- study hard, or whatever."

"Don't let the Bellas fall apart, okay?" Chloe laughs, though it's watery, and largely forced. "Aubrey will actually kill you, and she'll probably have learned so much in law school already that she'll be able to talk herself out of jail time, too. And then I'll have to hate my best friend, and that would suck, okay? So keep them together. And bring home another trophy, because otherwise they'll all think it's just a fluke, and it's not. It's not, because you're amazing, and talented, and you learned all of us until you knew exactly what would fit for us, and it's important that they know that. And don't put Blink-182 into anything, because I swear to God, Beca, I know you love them, but – "

"_Chloe_," Beca croaks. "I won't fuck up. I'll- I'll be okay, you know? So don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I'm fine. You just- do your thing up there in PA, okay?"

"Okay," Chloe gasps, though it's hard; it's _so damn hard_. "Okay. I'm not gonna say goodbye, okay? I can't- I'm not gonna say goodbye," she shakes her head fiercely.

"Good. I don't wanna hear it," Beca returns, and the smile that curves her mouth is less strained, but no less sad; _no_ less sad.

And Chloe hasn't even seen that devastating smirk in _weeks, _she realizes. And how she can she leave without that? How can she possibly leave without one last glimpse of it?

But she has to. Because she has to leave _now_, and Beca isn't likely to smirk any more than Chloe's likely to smile.

"Okay. I'll see you soon, Becs," Chloe vows, and she leans inward to press a quick kiss to Beca's cheek, before she whirls around and locks herself in the car.

Because she can't listen to Beca say anything else. Chloe just _can't_. And her sobs are clawing through her lungs, and begging for release, and she can't start that up in front of Beca, because it'll be a mess, between the two of them.

So she locks herself in the car and peers out the window.

"Chloe? Baby, are you- are you sure you're ready to leave?" Her mother asks softly.

Chloe laughs – hysterical, and it feels that way, too – and shakes her head viciously. "No," she sobs. "Drive. Mama, _drive_."

So Leina does.

Chloe can feel her casting worried, sympathetic glances her way, but she can't acknowledge anything except the vibration in her pocket. And when she feels it, she grapples for her phone with unsteady hands until she can flick her finger across it to open Beca's message.

_Beca: You made me a promise, Beale. Don't you forget about me._

Chloe gasps, sharp, and hard, and it does absolutely _nothing_ for her, so she says firmly, "Turn around."

She doesn't care that it comes out harsher than intended, or that it's contradicting her earlier wish. Chloe doesn't care at all, and apparently her mother doesn't, either, because she turns around as soon as she can, and when Chloe sees her – sees Beca – she's turned around and walking away, shoulders hunched low and her shoes dragging across the sidewalk.

Chloe leaps from the car before it even fully stops.

"Beca!" She calls out desperately.

Beca spins around, and when Chloe flings herself at her, Beca's arms are tight – God, so tight – around her back, and there are tears wetting Chloe's neck, and Chloe _doesn't care. _God, she doesn't care.

"I could never forget you," Chloe whispers breathily. "Never."

Beca nods, but doesn't pull her face away from Chloe's neck. Because Beca never liked for anyone to see her cry, but especially not Chloe, and they've done enough of that, already, but it doesn't seem ready to stop.

"I love you, Chlo," Beca breaks, a hard sob shuddering through her shoulders.

"I love you too, Becs."

"Okay," Beca says, pulling away, and swiping furiously at the tears on her cheeks. "Okay, you need to go. You need to go now, Chloe."

"I'll call you tonight," Chloe swears, daintily holding her knuckles beneath her nose, like that could somehow stifle the noises that itched at her throat. "And tomorrow, and every day after, okay? I promise. I won't forget you. Beca, I can't- I can't ever forget you."

"_Go_," Beca urges. "Damn it, Chloe, _leave_, before I don't let you."

Chloe presses a hard, urgent kiss against her mouth, and sprints back to her mother, waiting in the car.

"Chloe?"

"I know it's stupid, and I sound like a lovesick teenager, but, I swear, Mama, I think- I think that tiny little DJ is my soul mate."

"Oh, baby," Leina sighs, leaning over the center console to envelop Chloe in a soft embrace – the kind that only a mother can adequately offer, "if that's true, you'll be together again."

They would be. Chloe doesn't know how she knows, but she does. It hurts, now, but she would be with Beca again. Not today, and not tomorrow – maybe not for years, even – but Chloe would find her again. She had to.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Dude. I had to stop writing this, like, twelve times because I was crying so much. It's not a one-shot, but I'm not sure how frequently I'll be able to update it, right now, so don't hate me. I really want to knock out _Sixteen Days_, at some point; I just keep getting all these ideas, and I can't clear my head for anything else until I put them to paper. Let me know if you got the feels on this, too, or if I'm just crazy and insanely emotional.


	2. Random, October Friday

"_Becs, you're being silly," Chloe laughs, and she shuffles her laptop over her thighs – Beca can tell, because the camera shakes and the position alters, just enough for her to catch of glimpse of Chloe's family's living room over the redhead's shoulder._

"_Dude, I am not," Beca argues defiantly. "Dad is, like, the worst. The _worst_, Chloe."_

"_He just wants you to have dinner," Chloe reasons softly. "It's not so bad. Come on, he _can't_ be that bad, right?"_

"_Yeah, you know what, you're right," Beca nods agreeably, shoving a USB drive into the port of her computer to move a few mixes into a file that she can mail for Chloe while she's thinking about it, so she doesn't forget. "He's not the worst."_

"_See!" Chloe claims, grinning broadly with sparkling eyes. "I knew you'd come around, Becs."_

_The picture is clear – Beca had made sure that they worked out all of the kinks in Chloe's Skype program before she left, because HP computers are decidedly more difficult for the redhead to navigate than Beca's Macbook, and Beca doesn't understand why Chloe doesn't just buy one, anyway – but still, even with the 15.4-inch screen, Beca knows that no amount of definition or quantity of pixels could possibly do the shimmer of Chloe's eyes any sort of justice. And they never look quite so blue, either._

_It hurts. _

_When she realizes it (_every_ time she realizes it), it hurts a cavity in Beca's heart that hasn't been touched in years. Because Beca's never let anyone else near enough to touch it, anyway._

_No one but Chloe, who really hadn't afforded Beca much of a choice._

_But still, it hurts, and Beca has to avert her eyes, mindlessly curling the cord of her headphones around suddenly weak and disobedient fingers until she can compose herself. Because they don't talk about it – the distance; the pain. Like so much of what they share together, they just don't talk about it, because they never need the words._

_Sometimes– yeah. Sometimes it hurts worse. Like now, with Chloe's eyes paling so sharply in comparison to the real thing (the real thing that Beca hasn't seen in three months). Sometimes, like now, it hurts worse._

_But the hurt is always there. Always. _

_It's an ache in Beca's chest as 'Titanium' blares through the radio of her brand new Accord; it's a tremble in her palms that flickers in time to 'Party in the USA,' knowing that Miley Cyrus won't ever make it sound as good as Chloe does when she sings distractedly to a closed bus window, her breath pooling into fog across the glass; and, when she's not careful – when she's sleepy, and tired, and Beca just _misses_ her – it's a sob that traps in Beca's lungs, late at night, when she realizes belatedly (far too late to do anything about it) that she's idly humming around the melody of 'Just the Way You Are.'_

_But they don't talk about it, and it wouldn't do any good for them if they did, anyway, because it won't fix it. It won't conjure a teleportation device for them to utilize at will, and it won't bring Chloe to Barden, or drop Beca off in Maryland for the weekend, either. _

_So Beca clears her throat, and insists hoarsely, "Dad's not the worst. _Sheila_– Chlo, I swear to God, she's the most wretched woman I've ever encountered in my life."_

_Chloe smiles sympathetically, and nods, "Yeah, she does sort of sound like a bitch."_

_Beca chuckles. The emotion (and the wistfulness that's making her actually, literally feel crazy) clears – just a little; just enough – for a chuckle._

_Because, seriously, no matter how many times she hears Chloe Beale curse, it still strikes Beca as amusing when the kindhearted redhead says things like "bitch" and swears that 'Call Me Maybe' is "just the fucking best."_

_But, okay, Chloe's not wrong to feel that way, because while Beca is being dramatic (and whining a little, too) about her father, Sheila actually _is _a monster, and she's never cared much for Beca at all. Not that Beca actually _minds_, because she has very little interest in getting to know the home-wrecking, homophobic, hypocritical Christian, anyway._

"_She _is_ a bitch," Beca agrees fervently. "And I could handle dinner with Dad or whatever, but it's just- why does _she_ have to be there, too?"_

"_It'll be okay," Chloe promises. "You can call me after to vent, and we'll Skype together over a bottle of Jack, and everything will be okay."_

"_Fine," Beca huffs. "But if this turns into a nightmare, I'm blaming you, Beale."_

* * *

It's easy.

Okay, no. It's not easy – but it almost is. At first, anyway.

Beca can almost pretend that Chloe's just away for a little while. She can almost pretend that the redhead will be back in a couple of weeks, and that the ridiculously painful moments that they shared after Chloe's graduation never even happened. Beca can almost pretend that they're fine.

She can almost pretend that everything is just _fine_.

Because it's almost easy, in the summer, when the only things available to occupy their time are Beca's shifts at the radio station, and Chloe's summer job at a local coffee shop in town. It's almost easy – almost _too_ easy – for Beca to forget that it won't always be this simple.

They talk, every day (just like Chloe promised her; just like Chloe swore the day that she left), and, though it hurts _all the time_, it's not as bad as it felt like it would be the day of Chloe's graduation. It sucks, but it's tolerable.

Until, one day, it isn't.

Because Chloe starts med school in August, and it's hard, and exhausting, and she's _busy_, and Chloe's schedule gets hectic just when Beca's does, too.

Beca has the Bellas, and Luke's been giving her more airtime on the radio, so she has to make more time to create fresh mash-ups and mixes, and her Calculus course is kicking her ass all over the campus library and her classroom, too, and it's- it's not easy at all, anymore.

It's not easy to find the right times for Skype, or sometimes even phone calls.

They text all day, and it's nice – but it's just barely satisfying. Chloe's meeting new people, and Beca is treated to humorous anecdotes about students she's never met (students, Beca tries not to think, who she might _never_ meet), and Beca keeps Chloe posted on the Bellas and all the funny things that happen in the group.

But it isn't enough.

They make time – they force it, if they have to; Beca skipping work or Chloe bailing on a study group, if it's absolutely necessary – to Skype on Saturday afternoons, every week, but it's not enough, and it's definitely not easy, anymore.

And it's sad.

Because, yeah, Beca has her friends – but nothing can compare. Nothing can compare to this _thing_ she has with Chloe, and it feels wrong that Beca doesn't have her nearby. It twists in her stomach until Beca is convinced that she will undoubtedly pull a Posen and projectile vomit into the hair of the blonde girl who sits in front of Beca in her Music Appreciation class.

But on the random, October Friday when that happens, Beca trudges her feet across campus, anyway (determined not to sulk; determined not to flake on rehearsal because she's a certifiable _idiot_ and fell in love with her best friend the same year that they met, and the very same year that Chloe was _leaving_), and she only pauses for a second before she sends Chloe a text.

_Beca: I miss you, soulless ginger._

And when she gets to practice, the very first thing that Beca is greeted with is an indignant proclamation.

"I'm not _that_ soulless, you know."

Beca's head snaps up, and her lungs– Beca just doesn't know (or care) what's happened to them, but they're definitely fucked up, somehow, because they're definitely, miserably failing in their job – their _one job _– to provide Beca with _oxygen._

But it isn't important, because Chloe is almost like oxygen, for Beca – almost as important; almost as necessary for regular function – and she instantly gets a healthy swallow of the redhead, because the next thing that Beca knows, she's literally being tackled to the floor with Chloe's arms around her, and Beca can _breathe_ again, and she doesn't care that the ground is hard or that her back is aching from the force of the impact, because Chloe is _here_.

Her eyes feel wet, and her body is shaking, and she doesn't know _why_ Chloe's here, or when it happened, or _how_, but she can breathe again. Beca can breathe again, with her nose shoved up against Chloe's collar and the redhead's delighted laughter curling through her ears like wisps of smoke.

"Happy birthday, Becs," Chloe murmurs into her hair. "And, fuck, I've missed you, too."

And Beca didn't even know that it was her birthday, but she trusts Chloe to remember it better than she does, anyway – because Chloe knows _Beca_ almost better than Beca does, anyway. And she doesn't really care, either, because even if her mom never calls on her birthday (and her dad is probably afraid to, since he walked out on so many of the others) this is already the best one that she's ever had.

Beca just winds her palms around Chloe's hips and holds the redhead snugly against her, and chuckles something breathy and incredulous.

"What are you _doing_ here?" She manages to croak, eventually.

"My professor's had a trip planned for this seminar in New Castle since the beginning of the school year, and he typed it up on the syllabus, and I booked a ticket right away, because I was already upset that I would miss your birthday, anyway, and I just- I needed to see you, Becs, and I wanted it to be a surprise, so I couldn't tell you, and I'm sorry, but it – "

"Don't apologize," Beca rasps. "Don't ever apologize for coming to see me. I just – " Beca breaks off with a shake of her head. "I was half convinced that I was never going to see you again," she chokes out, blinking her tears away with fluttering eyelashes that flicker across Chloe's neck.

"I can't forget you," Chloe whispers into her ear, and it's heavy, and meaningful, and exactly what Beca needs to hear – this reiteration of Chloe's promise five months ago. "I won't ever forget you. I'll always come back for you, Beca."

Beca tightens her arms around Chloe lower back, and mumbles, "Good. That city air can't be good for you, anyway."

Chloe laughs, and nuzzles her nose warmly into Beca's hair before she gently pries herself away, straddling Beca's waist in a half-sitting position.

And, God, those eyes. Beca was right. The laptop, the distance, the waves of wireless communication– they could never do those eyes justice at _all_, because they're bright and warm and honed in on Beca's, and they look _so damn happy_.

"Is this a group affair? Because, I have to tell you, DJ, I'm not sure how comfortable I feel getting all up close and squishy with all these bitches' lady bits, but, eh, I could probably get over it since it's your birthday, and all, yeah?" Fat Amy asks earnestly, but with her face scrunched up to indicate her supreme discomfort with the notion.

Beca laughs, and shakes her head, placing her palm in Chloe's when the redhead stands and offers it to Beca with a mildly repentant, sheepish smile turning the corners of her mouth.

"Sooo," Stacie begins, "this means there's no rehearsal, right? Because Chloe's here, and obviously you guys should spend some time together _right now_," she insists with urgency that has Beca narrowing her eyes distrustfully, "because – oh, yeah! Because we have this party planned for you and all, and there's this adorably blushing kid who sits by me in Psychology who I'd just _love_ to convince to come, because, mm," she hums throatily, "the things that I could show that boy…"

"No rehearsal," Beca shakes her head. "We'll pick up on Monday. You're leaving Sunday, right?" She turns to ask Chloe.

"Monday morning," Chloe sighs sadly and tucks a wandering curl behind her ear. "I have to be back before my afternoon class, and I'll already be missing an exam review as it is, but- I wanted to stay as long as I could," she says, reaching for Beca's hand and stroking gentle fingers along the veins of her wrist.

"Okay," Beca swallows, and tries to ignore how badly she wants to beg Chloe to stay; to just stay here, forever. But Chloe is here _now_, and Beca's not going to waste her time thinking about how little time they actually _have_, so she nods, and offers a crooked grin, and says, "Okay, so, no. No rehearsal until Monday."

"Aw, yeeahh!" Fat Amy thrusts her fist in the air.

The girls twitter excitedly behind them as they move to leave (because, honestly, they've had rehearsal every weekend since school started back up, and, though they have nights free, they haven't exactly had as much weekend time as they'd like), and they call out birthday wishes to Beca over their shoulders, but Beca doesn't care, because she's busy being cradled in Chloe's arms again.

"I missed you so much, Becs," Chloe breathes.

"Yeah, I- I missed you, too, Beale," Beca manages. "Skype, it's- it's not the same, y'know?"

"I know," Chloe echoes, tightening her hold briefly before she pulls away. "Come on, I haven't been able to eat since last night, because I was just so nervous, and now- I'm kinda starving, Becs," she laughs.

"Why were you nervous?" Beca asks, allowing Chloe to lead them away in the direction of Mariatti's (Beca _knows_ that's where they're going, because it's Chloe's favorite restaurant in Barden, and she's been complaining for weeks that none of the Italian food in Philly even comes _close_ to paralleling Mariatti's).

Chloe bites her lip, and shrugs. "I guess I thought that- that maybe it wouldn't be a good idea for me to come."

"_Why?_" Beca demands harshly.

It wasn't exactly meant to emerge quite so bluntly, but, honestly, that's the stupidest thing that Beca's ever even heard, and it's next to impossible to keep that incredulity from leaking through her words.

Chloe sighs, and mutters, "We didn't exactly- talk about anything, before I left, but this – " she presses, squeezing her fingers around Beca's. "It isn't exactly easy, you know?" She asks softly, searching Beca's face for her agreement.

"It sucks," Beca returns blatantly.

"Yeah," Chloe releases a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, it _super_ sucks. But I just wasn't sure if- if maybe it was something that we should- move on from; something that we should _let each other_ move on from. And I wasn't exactly positive that you'd even- that you'd even _want_ to see me, Becs," she confesses vulnerably, ginger eyelashes playing wildly beneath her eyes.

"Chloe," Beca sighs, halting their motion just in the quad and stretching her free palm up to card her fingers through that soft, red hair that she misses so frequently, and so _much_, "I don't know what we're doing," she admits. "I don't know how it works, or where it ends, and I don't know how this goes, but- I always want to see you. And maybe it'll suck when you leave – "

"It's going to _super_ suck," Chloe pouts – not that manipulative, playful one that Chloe does to get what she wants, but the genuinely troubled one that betrays her emotions that Chloe can't even _help_ – so Beca grazes her hand lower to brush her thumb gently across that adorably protruding bottom lip.

"Yeah," she agrees softly, nodding. "It's going to super suck when you leave. But I don't- Chloe, I don't want to move on. You're- it. It's complicated, and messy, and I know we can't actually _do_ anything about it, because we're over seven hundred miles apart, but- you're it. I don't want anyone else."

Beca thinks that if this were anyone else (anyone else but Chloe; anyone else but the other half of this crazy passionate, overwhelming, painful- _thing_ that they share), there would be questions; there would be quizzical inquiries about what that even _means_, and probing into Beca's words; there would be more discussion.

But there isn't. Because Beca knows that Chloe feels the same way (she knows, because Chloe's spare hand curls around Beca's neck and her fingers drift easily along Beca's flesh, and she looks at Beca with adoration, and love, and the same foolish hope that's swelling in Beca's heart).

And they don't need to say more.

Because, God, it's fucking _complicated_, and Beca doesn't know how to explain it, anyway – because she can't _date_ Chloe; not when she's so goddamn far away, with half the world newly revealed to her and barely enough time between the two of them to manage a Skype call once a week, and no sort of consistency at all to how often they see each other in real life – but Chloe is _it_.

Beca doesn't know what 'it' is, but she doesn't even care, because whatever the hell it is, it _lives_ in Chloe Beale. And Beca won't find it anywhere else. Even if she could, Beca doesn't want to try, because even if she does find it somewhere else (some of it; parts of it, if she's lucky), it won't be _this_. It won't have this- _thing_, and it won't make Beca feel clammy and sick and healthier than she's ever felt before in her life, all at once.

Chloe is it.

"So," Beca smirks, shoving away everything about how messed up this situation is – how badly it hurts, and how desperately she wishes that things could be different; that they had more _time_; that they just had better timing, period – and locking it up in a vault to be left secured until Monday, when things would super suck again, "Mariatti's?"

"_Oh my God_," Chloe groans deliciously. "Yes. _So much yes_, Becs. You don't even understand how annoying it is to not have constant access to it. It's the worst."

Beca rolls her eyes, because it's a relatively new thing – this proclivity that Chloe's adapted for that phrase, since Beca mentioned it before things got busy, back in the last weeks of summer – and the frequency with which Chloe uses it is, to put it plainly, just _the worst_.

* * *

The party is fine.

It's good, and Beca feels warm all over when she thinks of how much effort that Chloe and the Bellas must have put into its conception (especially considering that, as Beca learned, the Bellas had even _known_ about Chloe's surprise, and somehow managed to keep it on the DL), but Beca just doesn't really care.

She leaves it after a couple hours, because, _damn it_, Chloe and her jiggle juice are just a force to be reckoned with, and the redhead has been shaking her perfectly fine ass all over Stacie's living room pretty much since the moment they arrived.

And they only have the weekend, anyway.

So as soon as she's tugged Chloe out the door, both of them drunk and unsteady on their own two feet, leaning (dumbly) into each other for support, she essentially traps Chloe against the wall, slamming into her for a hard, sloppy kiss that leaves them breathless and panting.

"Oh," Chloe blinks rapidly. "_Oh_," she whispers, tangling her fingers in Beca's hair as Beca glides down her throat to nip sharply against it. "Okay. Okay, Becs. But- but we need to- leave, okay?"

She's winded, and she wants it, too, because her cheeks are flushing and she's making the most enchanting noises that Beca's ever heard, cooing them into the top of Beca's head.

"Sure," Beca mumbles, but licks her tongue down the 'V' of Chloe's t-shirt, anyway, and makes no move to obey.

"_Beca,_" Chloe sighs out softly, her fingers pulling absently at Beca's hair, "take me home."

(Beca's too drunk, then, to ponder how nice it would be if her new, off-campus apartment really _was _Chloe's home – but she'll think about that later, on Monday, maybe, when she's sober, and that terrible vault of angst has been breached once more.)

They trade messy, inebriated kisses the entire walk back – it isn't necessarily far, but it does take them some time, given everything they're _doing_ along the way – but when they stumble into Beca's apartment, the urgency of it has increased tenfold.

Because, okay, they're obviously wound up, so it's understandable, right?

And it's been _months_. Because Beca hasn't been with anyone since she was with Chloe (Beca briefly, internally scoffs, _obviously_), and taking care of herself is so _not the same at all_, so she's hot, and they're both sticky, and alcohol is pretty much seeping out from their pores, so there's nothing – no restraint, no order, no compulsion to make this slow – to hold them back.

Beca all but tears Chloe's shirt away, whipping the material over her head, temporarily mesmerized by the way that Chloe's hair drops back beneath it like a red, burning waterfall once the fabric has been stripped away. Beca's shoes follow, and then Chloe's, and Beca's shirt, too. And Beca moans something desperate and primal and low when Chloe's fingers press hard against the seam of her jeans before – a moment later – divesting Beca of the thick material altogether.

It's minutes (_maybe;_ if that long, even) before they're collapsing naked onto the floor of the living room, and Beca– she'd been below Chloe, before, but she won't be, tonight; not right now, anyway. Right now she's on top, with Chloe's bent legs cradling Beca's hips between them, and every time (every. fucking. time.) Chloe's nails carve the length of Beca's spine, and she bites Beca's bottom lip with that knowing, playful glint in her eyes, Beca's hips rock into Chloe's.

Fucking Christ, Beca doesn't think she's ever been so wet or desperate in her life.

Her mouth skids across Chloe's chest until she's low enough to wrap her lips around a pebbled nipple, and she flicks her tongue across it as Chloe gasps, swiftly following it with a not-as-gentle-as-sober-Beca-would-have-planned scrape of her teeth.

"Yes," Chloe gasps mindlessly, as her back arches upward. "Oh my God, _Beca_."

Beca smirks lazily, but this is taking entirely too long, because she's pretty sure that she can _smell_ how wet Chloe is, even from here, by her breasts, and that just- it needs help.

Beca, she drunkenly decides, is good at helping Chloe.

So Beca draws her mouth over Chloe's ribs, and closes her teeth over Chloe's side (Chloe yelps, but it melts, somewhere, into a low, pleasured moan). When she reaches it – her destination – it's barely a second before Beca's mouth is on her, and Chloe's nails are biting into her shoulders, but Beca just can't find it within herself to care (and, secretly, she thinks she'll enjoy bearing the marks of Chloe's desperation, anyway).

Her tongue thrashes over Chloe's clit, unapologetic and unrelenting, and she sweeps her hand down from Chloe's bent knee, over her thigh, and up, up, up, until Beca shoves three fingers into Chloe's opening.

"_Fuck!_" Chloe cries out, clearing Beca's hair from her face with her fingers, and holding it tightly in her hand to roll her hips upward, and keep Beca's head steady and firm against her as she does it. "Becs, you're so- Oh, god. You're so fucking _good_."

(It's not particularly amusing when Chloe curses, this time; it's electrifying, and it's hot, and it's driving Beca kinda crazy; it's- definitely not amusing.)

Beca keeps her fingers thrusting, hard and quick and somehow matched by the movement of Chloe's hips, until Chloe mewls out this long, delicious keen of noise that Beca thinks could be (should be, truthfully) a song in and of itself. She presses her mouth to Chloe's stomach as she comes down, but she keeps her fingers still inside of her until Chloe's walls relax enough for her to pull away.

And then the world is shifting – spinning, whirling, blurring away – until Beca realizes, with a couple hard blinks and a lot of disorientation, that she's been flipped to her back with Chloe's knees pressed against her hips.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard, Becs," Chloe pants, sketching her mouth beneath Beca's ear. "After that – " Chloe shakes her head. "I'm gonna fuck you, Becs. I'm gonna make you feel so good. I promise, okay? I need- Just give me a second to _breathe_, little DJ, and I'll fuck you so hard, I promise."

"Um… Okay," Beca agrees.

Because, really, what the fuck else is she supposed to do? Chloe's apparently a dirty talker (Beca neither knows – nor, at the moment, does she actually _care_ – if that's due to the alcohol, or the decided lack of love-making, replaced by the urgent need to just _get off_ with one another), and it's screwing with Beca's head and she thinks her sex is actually dripping with so much arousal that it could be leaking into the carpet beneath her, right now.

Chloe, as has already been proven (with phone calls, and Skype, and texts, and a surprise goddamn visit to Barden, all for Beca), does not break her promises.

And Chloe proves it to her again.

* * *

The rest of the weekend is- calmer.

They recover on Saturday, and Beca – without much actual persuasion – allows Chloe to curl into her side while she watches some stupid movie on Lifetime as Beca types an essay for her English Literature class.

She'd have put it off until Chloe left (she wants to; she so, so wants to, because there are so much better things that she could be doing with Chloe here, in her apartment, that don't even begin to involve her schoolwork), but it's due tonight, so Beca has to write it.

When she's done, they order Chinese, and they have enough left over to cover dinner, too. They lie together, nude, in Beca's bed, and they wake in each other's arms on Sunday, and basically repeat the entire damn thing that day, too (minus the essay, obviously).

And when Beca takes Chloe to the airport Monday morning, it _hurts_.

It hurts all over, from Beca's watery eyes down to her trembling knees, and it feels like that awful graduation day all over again. She presses a sweet kiss across Chloe's temple, and she sheds tears – not like the first time; not those earth-shattering sobs; she could keep that much, at least, under control until she was home again, for Chloe's sake – and Chloe just cries that saddest tears that Beca's ever borne witness to, until Beca's throat feels so swollen that it might have closed off altogether.

But she whispers.

"Don't you forget about me, Beale."

It's a thing, now, and Beca isn't sure why; she isn't sure why she feels the need to say it, because every time she says it, her heart feels vulnerable, and so fucking raw, and every emotion that she's never wanted to feel – hurt and pain and gut-wrenching sadness, tied together with a hastily knotted, messy bow of love and, God, so much wistfulness that it _aches _– just surges to the surface in a flow of unsteady tears.

But Chloe catches them with her thumb, and promises, again, "I won't forget you, Becs."

And Beca knows why it's a thing; Beca knows why she feels the need to repeat those notorious lyrics into Chloe's ear, and she knows why she feels so exposed, too.

It's because she needs to hear the one thing that Chloe always says back to her. She needs to hear the promise again, to be sure that Chloe still means it; to be sure that Beca won't become a forgotten memory while Chloe is away.

And when Beca looks back on their weekend together, she blinks. Because she doesn't remember it. Not most of it. Beca doesn't remember what they actually _did._

But it doesn't matter what they did, because it wasn't important. It wasn't the awful movie on television, or the essay she typed, or the Chinese food that makes Beca's heart thrash wildly against her ribs. So it doesn't matter what they did.

All that matters – all that Beca thinks could ever matter to her, ever again – is the feel of Chloe's hair, tickling under her nose as they calm their breathing in bed; all that matters is the delicate stroke of Chloe's fingers over her hips while Beca awkwardly tries to type around the redhead's need for physical contact; all that matters is the teasing, mocking way that Chloe shoves a glass of milk into Beca's palm over lunch, at Beca's request, with the assertion that it was a good idea, too, and that maybe, if she's fortunate, it'll help Beca to grow taller.

It doesn't matter what they did at all, because they could be doing anything (any goddamn thing at all) and it would all be the same, to Beca. It would feel like warmth, and smell like the ocean; it would look like a tan palm covering the pale flesh atop Beca's heart; it would taste like sweetness and candy and a hint of something fruity.

And it would sound like music.

Chloe, to Beca, would always sound like music. It's important – Beca isn't sure why, but she knows that it is; it's so important – that Chloe registers to Beca as music incarnate.

Because Beca– she loves music.

Beca can't live without it.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I tried to tone down the sad in this one, a bit. The last one was rough on me (and you guys, too, apparently). Please review, and let me know if I took too much of the emotion away.


	3. Giving Thanks

"_Will you sing for me?"_

_Chloe knows it's silly. She really does. But the only track that she has in her posession with Beca's voice on it is the mp3 file that Beca stripped from the video of their ICCA performance, and Chloe– she wants to hear Beca's voice so badly, but she can't bear to hear it rasping over the lyrics of that song. She just _can't_. _

_Because that song – its lyrics, and the undeniable sadness of it, colored by the hopeful, lighter melody in the background that doesn't actually change what that song _means_ – breaks Chloe's heart, now. Because all it means to her is a 'goodbye' that won't ever, ever be spoken aloud, and a promise that Chloe regularly vows to keep for the rest of her life._

_Chloe can't spend much time thinking about it, because it inevitably leads to endless tears, and days submerged in an emotional pit of torment, so she just can't listen to that song, anymore._

_Still… Chloe wants to hear Beca sing (she misses it terribly; harmonizing with the small DJ and belting out silly songs with her in the car on a routine basis), and Chloe is evidently not above asking for it._

"_What?" Beca demands, amused. _

"_Sing," Chloe insists with a small, indulgent smile. "Sing for me, Becs."_

"_Is this another lady jam thing?" Beca asks warily, narrowing her eyes at a camera that is hundreds of painful miles away from Chloe. "I mean, are we about to get it on over Skype? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the middle of campus, right now, and I have to tell you – boundary-less or not – that's pushing it a little, even for you, Beale."_

"_You make everything so _hard_," Chloe whines theatrically, though somewhere along the way it sculpts into the sound of laughter, instead, because she really can't even pretend that Beca's humor isn't a little funny, even if it is at Chloe's expense. "I just- miss it," she sighs, her chuckle giving way for a wistful little sigh. "Please, Beca?" She beseeches vulnerably._

_Beca doesn't comment right away, but the look she's projecting through the screen is one that Chloe knows (and has been exposed to more times than she would ever have preferred); it's masked grief and hard swallows and teary eyes, and Chloe is sure, in that moment, that the particularly strong feeling of longing that has overcome her today has been echoing within Beca, too. _

_But Beca blinks, bows her head, and when she looks up again, the heels of her palms are making a thudding sound against the flat of her laptop just beneath the keyboard, and (though the noise emerges on Chloe's end with a little, muffled static) Chloe's heart swells. Because Beca is tapping out a beat._

_And, a moment later, Beca sings for her._

I was left to my own devices  
Many days fell away with nothing to show

And the walls kept tumbling down  
In the city that we love  
Great clouds roll over the hills  
Bringing darkness from above

But if you close your eyes,  
Does it almost feel like  
Nothing changed at all?  
And if you close your eyes,  
Does it almost feel like  
You've been here before?  
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?  
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

_It's a sad song, really, and only marginally better than the one that Chloe mentally vetoed listening to on her own, but it's _right_. It's- well, it's _them_. It's Chloe and Beca, separated by several state lines, Skyping and calling and texting every chance they get so that they can hold on to everything that they _are_ together, and hold on to _hope_. And, sometimes, when she does close her eyes – when she lays in bed late at night, or feels particularly overwhelmed by her workload as she drives herself harder, and harder, and harder still, as often as her Ivy League requires – Chloe sees Beca._

_Chloe sees Beca every damn time._

_And when she sends the brunette a text immediately after each one of those moments, she has to power off the instinctive urge to ask Beca to bring her a latte and come visit her for a study break, or to come to the apartment for a cuddle._

_For a second – just one, content, lovely second – Chloe forgets that they may as well be worlds apart. Chloe forgets that Beca _can't_ just swing by the library to bring her a coffee; Chloe forgets that Beca _can't_ meander the measly distance across campus just to come snuggle with her._

_When she remembers again, she aches all over in places that were never meant to feel that kind of hurt. She's tired, and sore, and sad, and _lonely_. And Chloe calls Beca. Always._

_Because, though it's barely anything in comparison to the DJ's body curled around her own – warm, and soft, and always, always affectionate, despite Beca's protests to the contrary – her voice soothes Chloe, and walks her back from a dangerous ledge of depression that Chloe feels entirely too close to, these days._

_And this song – this beautifully sad song, carefully chosen by Beca (because all of Beca's songs are carefully chosen, Chloe knows) – is all of that. So despite that her eyes water and a lone tear wets a path down the length of her right cheek, Chloe sings the song with her._

_(And Chloe ignores that Beca is crying, too, allowing the music to speak for them all that their own words never voice aloud.)_

* * *

"This is a beautiful campus," Leina gushes. "Oh, I know I said it when we dropped you off before, but, honestly, it's just lovely here."

"Yeah, it's really pretty," Chloe remarks absently, with a faint smile and a small nod.

"How are things? We're all a little heartbroken that you couldn't make it back for Thanksgiving, you know," Leina tells her. "Your father misses you – and your siblings, too. Uncle Dave couldn't make it this year, either, but I know he's missing you, as well."

"I miss them, too," Chloe sighs softly. It's true – Chloe misses them all terribly – but Chloe thinks it's probably kinder to her mother's feelings that she doesn't mention how much more she misses Beca; Leina is leaving in the morning (the day before Thanksgiving), but she'd flown to Philadelphia to see Chloe during her daughter's week off, since Chloe has far too many study groups over the break to miss without serious academic repercussions, and Chloe is very happy to see her. "Things are okay. Really busy," Chloe shrugs, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket as a particularly cool breeze wafts over them. "I'm doing well in all of my courses, though. I'm still just hoping that things calm down a little."

Chloe watches her feet shuffle as they trek through the quad on their way back to Chloe's apartment, but after a long moment of silence (silence that is generally _always_ absent within the Beale family) she turns to her mom and blinks bemusedly when she finds a pair of matching blue pools carefully observing her.

"What?" Chloe frowns earnestly. "What is it, Mama?"

"How about you tell me, Chlo-bear," Leina murmurs softly.

"What do you mean?" Chloe confusedly shakes her head a little.

"You may be twenty-two years old, Chloe Beale, but you are still my daughter, and I know you better than you often like to believe," Leina says, linking her arm through Chloe's pocketed one. "You're not yourself, baby. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Chloe tries for a reassuring smile. "I'm just exhausted, that's all. Really, Mama – I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Leina narrows her eyes accusingly.

Chloe's head rears back a little, and she's sure that her expression falls into one of surprise, too, but it's not her fault. It _is_ surprising, because Leina Beale does_ not_ swear; in fact, she's vehemently against it, most times, though she makes occasional allowances for it in others for particularly powerful emotions.

Chloe blinks over at her for a stunned moment, before she breathily asks, "_What?_"

She thinks it emerges sounding a little bit like Beca – incredulous and amused and somehow seriously baffled, as well – and Chloe feels herself warm a little at the thought, despite the chilly November weather.

"You heard me," Leina says, softer. "Chloe, something isn't right with you," she sighs. "I've heard it in your voice for weeks. I'd hoped that perhaps I was calling at inconvenient times, but I've been here with you for three days, now, and it hasn't faded from your tone even once. Talk to me, baby," Leina pleads quietly. "I'm worried for you."

"Don't be," Chloe insists comfortingly, as her apartment building comes into view when they round the corner. "I just- I don't think I've fully adjusted to the move, yet. That's all."

That's really _not_ all, Chloe knows, but the move is mostly the cause of everything else (aside from the stress of schoolwork, which would be present anywhere at all – even in Barden).

The move is the reason that Chloe is apart from _Beca_.

"I don't believe you," her mom sighs dejectedly. "Not for a second. You've always adjusted well to change; you make friends quickly and easily, and you learn your way around very fast. You've been here for three months," Leina reminds softly, stepping up the building's stairs beside Chloe. "That's usually more than enough time for you, Chloe. Is it- Do you not like it here?" Leina ventures cautiously. "Is that it, sweetheart? Because if that's the case, then there are many other schools that could – "

"It doesn't matter," Chloe says stonily, prodding a key into the lock of her apartment door, but her shoulders deflate and she darts an apologetic look in her mother's direction when Leina startles at the cool tone of her voice. "I'm sorry," she whispers, shaking her head, and tugging an impatient hand through her hair before shoving the door open. When it closes behind her mother, Chloe repentantly repeats, "I'm sorry, Mama."

"You know, of course, that it _does_ matter if you aren't happy here?" Leina asks expectantly, but warmly. "You can go somewhere else, Chloe; probably _anywhere_ else, with grades like yours. I know that the University of Pennsylvania has been your dream for years now, but- if you aren't happy, there _are_ other medical schools, honey. You could transfer, if you wanted. We wouldn't be any less proud of you for that, sweetie."

"I want to be here," Chloe sighs. "I do. And I earned it," she says faintly, remembering Beca's words from so many months ago. "I _should_ be here, and I do want to be. It's an incredible opportunity for me, and I'm really grateful for it. It's just- hard," Chloe's voice cracks and she lowers her head again as tears prickle behind her eyes.

"What's hard, baby?" Leina asks soothingly.

"Being away from her," Chloe chokes out, rapidly blinking away tears that, in spite of Chloe's hard efforts, trip slowly down her face, anyway.

"_Oh_," Leina murmurs, surprised, like the thought hadn't once occurred to her. "Oh, Chloe, is that what this is? You miss your Beca?" She asks sympathetically, moving to rub softly against Chloe's lower back.

"She isn't mine," Chloe sobs, lifting her palm to cover her heart as though that had the power to somehow keep the ache from swelling, and swelling, and swelling some more, until it overtook her in the same way that Chloe has, by now, become very accustomed to. "Beca _isn't_ mine," Chloe insists tearfully. "She- We just- We have such awful timing, Mama, and I can't- I can't _be_ with her. Not from here. And I just _miss _her. _All the time_, I miss her, Mama, and I keep- I keep hoping that it'll get better; that I'll wake up one day and it won't _hurt_ so much, and- and I keep waiting for it, but it never comes. It hurts _all the time_, and I just- I can't – " Chloe's rambling ends with another sob.

Her breath is coming in hard, painful gasps of air that dry out her throat and sting in her lungs, but she turns into her mother's touch and buries her face against Leina's chest for comfort that Chloe is pretty sure can't be found, here – not in Pennsylvania; not even in her mother's arms.

Chloe's comfort resides in a tiny little girl, far, _far_ away from Philly.

"Oh, baby," Leina coos, folding an arm around Chloe's back and combing her hair away from her face, "you're lovesick," she realizes sadly.

Chloe guesses that's true, despite her abrupt urge to scoff at the connotations of the term; she's in love, and being away from Beca- it actually makes her food churn violently in her tummy, and she's so, so tired – tired in her heart, and in her bones and her mind, too – and Chloe truly does _feel_ sick. And Chloe knows it's the fact that she's in love that's ultimately causing the feeling.

"I don't know what to do," Chloe whooshes on a trembling exhale. "I don't- I don't know what to do, Mama."

"Oh, I just didn't realize- I know you told me that she was your soul mate, but I didn't – " Leina shakes her head and sighs. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. Here," she says, pulling away a bit. "Come here, sweetheart. Let's sit, hm? Let's sit on the sofa."

Chloe lowers herself onto the couch and curls into her mother's side, coaching herself through quivering gulps of breath to ward away the sobs.

"Good girl," Leina murmurs. "Would you- like to tell me about her?" She hesitates. "You've told me a bit, but- we didn't actually get the chance to meet, at your graduation. It seemed- Well, I didn't want to intrude; the two of you were having a very difficult time saying goodbye, and it didn't seem to be a good time for introductions."

"We don't say goodbye," Chloe mumbles reflexively, tugging her phone out of her back pocket and tossing it to the coffee table, where it couldn't prod uncomfortably against her ass. "I won't tell her goodbye."

"They're very final, aren't they? Goodbyes?" Leina encourages warmly.

Chloe nods, and when she feels that she has her breathing under control, she sighs, and says, "Beca's amazing, Mama. She's all hard edges and a gooey, caramel center," she chuckles. "She's super sweet, but it takes a long time to understand it; like, she'll make a comment that- it seems like _nothing_, and you barely acknowledge it at all, but weeks later, I find out something new about her, and- that stupid, nothing-filled comment from, like, a month before turns out to be the highest compliment anyone's ever given me.

"Like, she told me once that she thinks of her mother, sometimes, when I sing. But I didn't find out until a while after that Beca's mom- she sort of fell apart after her dad left them, and she's pretty much a verbally abusive alcoholic, now; Beca said her mom used to sing to her all the time, when she was younger, but she doesn't anymore, and she likes when I sing jazz music, because it reminds her of when she was a kid.

"It's just that Beca's- very sentimental, but she's been let down a lot, and she tries _so hard_ not to care, Mama," Chloe says, raising her chin enough to lock eyes with her mom's kind ones, smiling down at her. "She tries so hard, and she comes off as rude, sometimes, and- _prickly_," Chloe giggles a watery little sound, knowing how truly Beca would be offended by the descriptor. "And, oh my God, she's so sarcastic it's almost _painful_, but, I swear, she's the sweetest person I've ever met in my life. And she's so talented!" Chloe exclaims. "I've never heard anyone sing as beautifully as she does, and the music she makes is just so- there's so much _feeling_ in it. And – "

"Breathe," Leina chuckles softly.

Chloe obeys, and smiles a little sheepishly when she realizes that she's been ranting for a good few minutes. About Beca.

Her Beca.

And Chloe realizes that, maybe, Beca _is_ hers. Not in the way that she would prefer, but Beca _is_ Chloe's; she's Chloe's _sun_. Chloe feels so adrift, here in Philly, because her sun is so far away, and Chloe has nothing to orbit, and no promise for when she can make her way back.

Chloe's sun is in Barden. And Chloe needs the warmth of it; she needs its light to grow, and to thrive, and she can't find happiness when her world is black and bleak.

It doesn't help. It doesn't fix the situation, or give Chloe much peace, but this- it's something that she needs to voice to Beca. Though much of their communication is silent, Chloe wants, more than anything, to _hear_ that she is Beca's sun, too, even though she knows how deeply Beca feels for her. She needs to hear the words they've shied so desperately away from speaking.

But, Chloe sighs upon realizing, that's a conversation they need to have in person. And Chloe doesn't know when that will be.

"Beca sounds like a wonderful girl, Chloe," Leina murmurs, smiling softly. "I'm happy that you've found her. Look," she grins, swiping a tear from Chloe's cheek before cradling it in her palm. "Even speaking of her makes you smile."

But Chloe's smile wavers. "Yeah," she nods sullenly, "but it doesn't change anything."

"No," Leina agrees softly. "No, it doesn't. But it's a beautiful gift – this kind of love. It's very rare," her mom goes on gently. "It's a little humbling to witness, at your age," she laughs disbelievingly, "but it's rare. And it's so _special_, Chloe," she insists earnestly. "I know it's hard – I really do, baby, and you're doing so well, despite it – but it's a special love that you have in your heart," she whispers, trailing her hand to flatten her palm over the hammering organ in Chloe's chest. "It can survive the distance. I know it can. It'll take some work," she cautions, "but it _can_ survive."

"I know," Chloe sighs honestly. "I know it can. It's just so _hard_," she swallows as the tears well once more, but she blinks them away, refusing to cry again.

"You're a very strong girl," Leina replies, dropping a kiss against Chloe's forehead that lasts long enough for Chloe to tell that her mother is feeling pretty emotional, too. "You're a Beale, after all," Leina teases gently. "We're made of pretty thick skin."

Thick, maybe, Chloe concedes – but also translucent.

Beca Mitchell does not have a piece of Chloe's heart; she doesn't even have the whole of it. Beca Mitchell _is_ Chloe's heart, and Chloe's thick skin will protect it with all that she has; but her _translucent_ skin will, apparently, leave it very easy to discern that Chloe simply cannot function properly without her.

"Go wash up," Leina encourages. "I'll cook something up for dinner. Take your time; we have nowhere to be until morning."

Chloe nods, hesitates in the doorway, and says sincerely, "Thank you, Mama. I- just, thank you."

"You'll always be my little girl, Chloe Beale," Leina smiles tenderly. "And I'll always be your mother. You can talk to me any time you'd like."

Chloe smiles her appreciation again, but – on impulse – rushes forward to wrap her arms around her mother. Leina laughs softly and kisses her head, stroking her hair for a moment before she shoos an exhausted, but slightly more relaxed Chloe to the shower.

* * *

The next few weeks are hard for Chloe. Preparation for finals dragged her out of bed in the morning before sunrise, and hauled Chloe back to it in the evenings for a couple hours of sleep before setting it all on repeat.

Chloe texted Beca, and they maintained their weekly Skype calls with regular ones mingled between, when they could – but they were all shorter than they had come to expect, with Beca's finals approaching, too – and Chloe misses her more than she feels any human has a right to miss another being.

But, she thinks, wheeling her suitcase through the terminal at Dulles International (pointedly ignoring how wonderfully delicious the Cinnabons smell as she passes) and peeking up on her tiptoes to try and find her family, she and Beca can talk all they want for the next month, which is more than a little comforting, too.

Chloe grins a bit when she catches sight of a small wall of red outside in the Southwestern Airlines arrivals area, and she waves excitedly when her dad moves forward to take her suitcase.

And then Chloe freezes.

Stops dead, smack in the middle of hurdles of bustling people, aggravated from their flights and itching to reach their destinations.

"Beca," she breathes.

She's there. Her tiny DJ is _there_, newly revealed by the relocation of her dad's large, bulky frame, with her hands tucked into her back pockets and a shy little smile on her face. Her beautiful face.

"Beca!" Chloe screams, dropping her suitcase precisely where it is (and decidedly _not caring at all_), before she launches forward and folds her arms around Beca's waist, burying her nose in the brunette's impossibly soft hair as Beca's palms rise to curl around Chloe's neck.

"Hi," Beca whispers against Chloe's throat.

It cracks, but Chloe doesn't care; it's a miracle that hers hadn't done the same. And she knows Beca's as thrilled to be there as Chloe is to have her.

"Hi," Chloe laughs breathily in reply. "How – ?" She tries to ask, pulling back a little to see Beca's face, and shaking her head confusedly with a semi-permanent beam etched across her features.

Beca shrugs, and says, "Uh- your mom called me?"

"_What?_" Chloe grins.

"Dude, I dunno, ask her!" Beca huffs defensively, averting her eyes.

Chloe knows she must be feeling a little insecure about being here (Beca doesn't really _do_ family, and her own isn't exactly the greatest – and certainly not any kind of model to work off of), but Chloe can't pause her elation long enough to address it, and this probably isn't the time, anyway.

"No," Chloe refuses petulantly, tugging Beca against her again.

"Mmf," Beca grunts into her jacket. "Jesus, Chloe, I do still need to _breathe_, you know."

"Breathing is for pansies," Chloe giggles, defiantly pulling Beca even closer and squeezing her particularly hard around the middle. "And you're totally badass."

"_Breathing_," Beca struggles out, "is for the _living_. Badass as I may be, I have yet to encroach upon undead status. I will, though," Beca promises with faux-contemplativeness. "Vampires are so far beyond badass, they don't even have a word for it. I'm gonna be one of those, eventually. And not the stupid, twinkly ones, either," she adds with a scowl that Chloe _knows_ is there, even if she can't see it from her current position.

"I missed you. God, I missed you so much," Chloe laughs airlessly, separating enough to stroke Beca's hair behind her ear with gentle, reverent fingers. She tips her neck forward to lean her forehead into Beca's, and sighs contentedly. "I _missed_ you," she repeats, whispering.

Beca closes her eyes and swallows, but when she opens them again, they're a little glassy and a lopsided grin has crept into Beca's cheeks. "One more time," she instructs softly.

"I missed you," Chloe grins, humming delightedly.

"I love you," Beca murmurs back.

Chloe releases a jokingly offended little cry and pulls away with a scoff. "Do you have to upstage _everything_, Beca Rae?"

"Best me I can be, or whatever," Beca smirks.

God, that smirk. It _does_ things to Chloe, and she forgets – with time and separation – how it turns her stomach aflutter in person in ways that it could never manage through Skype.

"How long do I have you?" Chloe asks.

"The whole month?" Beca says, scrunching her face up like she isn't sure how that news will be received. "I didn't- want to intrude, or anything, and I know you didn't get to go home for Thanksgiving, so I wanted to give you and your family some time, but – " Beca struggles, rubbing awkwardly behind her ear.

Chloe grins and bounces on the balls of her feet.

God, this girl is adorable.

"I told her that we'd be happy to have her with us until the break was over," Leina chuckles softly.

Chloe (shamefully) realizes that she has yet to greet her mother _or_ her father, or her older sister, Kylar – who Chloe actually hadn't even realized was there _at_ _all_.

"Mama, how did you – ?"

"After we talked in Philadelphia, I perhaps- _borrowed_ your phone, for a minute or two. I didn't search through it," Leina promises earnestly. "I just had the idea that, maybe, I could bring Beca to you for Christmas. Her flight got in half an hour ago. She's been- very anxious to see you," she smiles warmly at Beca.

Beca flushes and shuffles her feet. Then she shrugs, and says, "Whatever. I missed you, too, Beale."

Chloe laughs delightedly, and throws herself at Beca again, so hard that the DJ ends up with her back pressed against the side of their family's Subaru.

"Oh my God, _stop_. Hug _them_," Beca insists. "I smell like a plane," she grumbles self-consciously, a moment later.

Despite all of it, though, her arms hug Chloe back. Tightly. Like Beca doesn't want Chloe any further away than this; like Beca needs Chloe just as much as Chloe needs her; like Beca's _missed_ her and _loves_ her just as much.

Chloe knows that's all true, so she presses a sweet kiss into Beca's hair, and holds on a moment longer – just long enough to fill her nose with the scent of summer that somehow _always_ seems to radiate from Beca, even though she should, by all rights – as Beca mentioned – smell like an airplane. Then she separates, and launches herself at her mother, instead.

"Thank you," Chloe whispers meaningfully. "_Thank you_, Mama. Thank you so much."

"We couldn't have our baby girl moping around at Christmastime, could we?" Chloe's dad, Harper, booms with laughter from behind her, and Chloe whirls to face him.

"Thanks, Daddy," Chloe breathes, tucking her face against his sweater-covered chest. "You're the best."

"You know, I'm really starting to get a pretty clear picture about the hierarchy of your affections, Chloe, and I have to say – I'm not totally happy with falling on the bottom rung," Kylar huffs good-naturedly.

Chloe laughs, and lets go of her father to embrace her sister, too.

"Hey, Kylar. It's good to see you," Chloe murmurs against her cheek.

"Oh, sure, sure," Kylar nods agreeably. "But not as good as it is to see _her_, huh?" She teases softly, tipping her head in Beca's direction.

Beca flushes again (Chloe will only internally admit that she might have, too), but they're saved from producing a response when a police officer in a reflective yellow vest interrupts to tell them that they need to move the car.

It's a tight fit, with her dad and mom in the front seats, and Chloe, Beca, and Kylar squished in the back, but Chloe – tucked in the middle – barely notices.

Actually, she sort of crawls into Beca's lap the moment that Kylar grouses about the lack of space, and offers a cheeky grin to her parents when they gripe about some seatbelt issue that is terribly, terribly irrelevant to Chloe.

Because she's settled in Beca's lap, and Beca is in the car with them on their way to Chloe's _house_, and she'll be there for a whole entire month, and Chloe just can't contain the excitement that's buzzing through her veins like coke, or meth, or some other kind of drug that Chloe's never even tried. And Beca's arms are hugged around her waist, her cheek tucked against Chloe's shoulder like she doesn't even _care_ that Chloe's being grossly affectionate with her in front of her family.

Not yet, anyway, but Chloe knows that she'll get an earful about it later. Still, she just doesn't _care_.

And when they pull up Chloe's driveway, Chloe takes Beca's fingers in her own and refuses to release them, despite the handicap of dragging their bags from the trunk with only one arm each, instead of two.

Chloe's dad takes both of the bags from there, though, and her mom implores Kylar to give the two a moment alone, so Kylar rolls her eyes and follows Leina inside.

Beca squeezes Chloe's fingers and pulls her in until Chloe's hip rests against Beca's, and Beca removes her hand from Chloe's to tuck it around her waist, instead.

"Are you- Is it okay that I'm here? I mean, if you want me to go, or leave early, then it's not a problem. I can – "

Chloe turns and presses her mouth against Beca's, a familiar (but not familiar enough; _never_ familiar enough) heat forged of love and distance and passion and desire flooding Chloe's veins until Chloe is certain that there can't possibly be any blood left within them.

Then she pulls away, barely a centimeter, and swallows as she shakes her head. "Don't go. I want- I want you here as long as I can have you," Chloe insists. "I'm totally okay with being selfish and taking you away from your stupid dad and evil step-mom for the holidays, because I really- God, I've missed you so much, Becs."

Beca cradles her opposite hand over Chloe's ribs, leaning in to steal a soft, and tender kiss that she holds several moments longer than the closed-mouth interaction really requires. Chloe's heart thumps radically against her chest (she's really beginning to think that they might have drugged that Sprite she ordered on the plane, because this sort of bodily reaction should definitely _not_ be possible without the aid of some supplementary chemicals); Beca is often so heartwarmingly gentle with Chloe that it makes her eyes tear, and this moment- it's definitely no exception.

They share a long minute of silence – trading contentment, and joy, and simply enjoying the feel of one another after yet another separation – before Beca asks softly, "Are you happy to be home?"

Chloe folds her lips around Beca's gently, and, staring into to Beca's eyes, Chloe whispers, "Yeah. It's good to be home."

But Chloe doesn't go inside for a very long time.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Mostly filler, but it's also an important chapter. I know that the mopey-and-sad-and-depressed-and-heartbroken is getting a bit old, but a) I showed how Beca was dealing with the distance, and I thought I should show things from Chloe side, too, and b) there's a whole month – in story-time, obviously :P – of holiday happenings to brighten the mood! I promise that the whole thing won't be so down all the time, okay? Please review for me! Also, let me know if there's anything particular you'd like to see with Chloe's family! I have a few things planned, but I might be able to work something else in! Oh, and I meant to say that we'll see more about Chloe's college-life in later chapters, too, though I'm not sure when, just yet. Thanks, guys! Sorry for the lengthy note!


	4. Bar Stop

"_You look really- happy," Aubrey says suspiciously._

_Beca can all but _hear_ the lift of her thin blonde eyebrows that accompany the statement, and she snorts a little – but Chloe glares at her briefly as a silent reminder to shut up and stay out of sight, before the redhead bounces a little on the sofa cushions in the living room._

"_Mhmm," Chloe nods enthusiastically, humming with barely restrained elatedness._

"_Do I want to know?" Aubrey queries dryly._

_Chloe grins, and beckons Beca forward with an insistent, flapping movement of her hand. Beca sighs in reply, and adds a healthy roll of her eyes for good measure – because Beca's nearly a hundred percent positive that Aubrey won't actually give two shits that Beca's in Maryland for the holidays – but Chloe is excited, and Beca guesses that it would be nice of her to indulge her._

_She circles around the coffee table and unceremoniously plops herself down on the couch next to Chloe, offering a smirk and an upward flip of her hand as a gesture of greeting to her former Bellas captain._

"_Look!" Chloe squeals. "Beca's _here_, Bree!"_

"_I can see that," Aubrey remarks, sounding (and looking) fairly surprised, but amused by Chloe's behavior. "Hi, Beca."_

"_Hey, Aubrey," Beca returns. "Chloe told me you're up in Massachusetts for Christmas?" She asks conversationally._

"_I am," Aubrey nods slowly, narrowing her eyes. "My parents have a timeshare in Martha's Vineyard, so we head up here for the holidays every other year. You're in _Maryland_?" She asks disbelievingly, abruptly cutting to what she clearly perceives to be the chase._

"_Yeah, well," Beca scratches behind her ear, shrugging uncomfortably, "Chloe's mom called and invited me, so…"_

_Aubrey grins, and Beca is already sure – via the same, instinctive knowledge that prevents her from approaching a baby bear in the woods with no weapon or safe place to run – that she's just going to _abhor_ whatever the blonde is next prepared to offer._

"_You missed Chloe that much, huh? That's- sweet," she smirks belittlingly._

"_Aubrey," Chloe warns, "play nice. Beca was," she adds proudly._

_Beca tenders a smirk of her own, proud of herself, in fact, and pleased with Chloe's recognition of her obvious attempts to be cordial with Aubrey._

_Aubrey scoffs and rolls her eyes. "I wasn't being mean," she defends._

_It's a lie, and they all know it is – even Aubrey, whose face pinches up a little like she's trying to recall her words, and is promptly realizing that they had emerged with more than a bit of a mocking tone, that couldn't really be justified as anything else._

"_Were too," Beca huffs unnecessarily._

"_Whatever," Aubrey dismisses. "How long are you there for?"_

"_A month!" Chloe beams, with a grin that Beca's pretty sure almost touches her ears._

_Beca warms. _

_It's crazy that her presence can make Chloe this- _happy_, but it thrills Beca to know that her feelings are echoed within the redhead. She's more than happy to be here, with Chloe, and it makes her heart thump excitably against her ribs to remember that she has all of break to drown herself in Chloe's company._

"_You're staying for the whole month?" Aubrey frowns. "Won't your family be upset?"_

_Chloe's hand reaches out to squeeze her knee, and she turns to offer a small, sympathetic smile at Beca.  
_

"_No," Beca shortly replies. _

_That line of conversation will _not_ go any further. Not with Aubrey. She'll discuss it with Chloe later, if Chloe asks, but family isn't really a subject that Beca enjoys discussing, and she won't talk about it with Aubrey the-special-pain-in-Beca's-ass Posen._

"_O-kay," Aubrey says, dragging out the 'o' and clearly sensing that she'd unintentionally wandered into a verbal danger zone. Aubrey gracefully – thankfully, if Beca is asked – teeters several figurative steps backward. (It's not terribly surprising, Beca supposes; while she and Aubrey don't share all that much in common, they _do_ have mutual, complicated feelings where their families are concerned, and Beca's sure that Aubrey can understand her reluctance to talk about it better than most.) "Well, Chloe's clearly happy to have you," Aubrey saves._

"So_ happy," Chloe sighs contently. "It's gonna be the best Christmas ever. I just wish you could be here for it, too."_

"_I'll be there for New Years'," Aubrey smiles gently._

"_You will?" Beca frowns._

"_Aubrey always comes for New Years', Becs," Chloe giggles and bumps her shoulder lightly._

"_Awesome," Beca breathes, though there's clear trepidation embedded within the sentiment._

"_Don't sound so excited to see me, Mitchell," Aubrey smirks. Then she adds, "Don't worry; I'll only be there for a couple of days. You can have Chloe back right after."_

_Beca scowls. _

"_You make me tired," she asserts, still glowering at the camera._

_Chloe laughs. "It'll be fine. We'll all be drunk, anyway, so you two will get along great. I'm not worried."_

_The promise of alcohol mildly appeases Beca. "Fine. I guess I can disarm my weapons for a couple of days," she sighs dramatically._

"_Bree?" Chloe grins._

"_Yes, yes," Aubrey offers a matching sigh of reluctance. "We'll behave ourselves, Chloe."_

"_Swear?" Chloe prods seriously._

"_I swear," Aubrey rolls her eyes._

"_To the aca-gods?" Chloe presses, impressively maintaining her solemn expression despite that Beca knows she's practically _trilling_ with glee inside._

"_To the aca-gods," Aubrey indulges, smiling a little and shaking her head. "As long as Beca does too," she conditions swiftly._

"_I swear on every single one of your stupid aca-gods that I will be on my very best behavior, Chloe," Beca snorts derisively. "I'm gonna let you guys talk, now. Your mom's making pancakes, and I want dibs before your sisters inhale them all. I don't know how they eat so much," Beca grumbles under her breath, waving a farewell to Aubrey and padding her way to the kitchen as Chloe laughs behind her._

* * *

"Hello, girls," Leina smiles warmly at the pair, pressed together on the couch with Beca's back stationed across Chloe's lap, and her neck uncomfortably arched into the armrest, her laptop perched atop her stomach.

"Hi, Mrs. Beale," Beca returns shyly, stilling her fingers over her keyboard to look up at the woman.

It's not difficult for Beca to tell where Chloe gets her- _shine_ from; Leina Beale is just as kind as Chloe is, with an even softer, motherly pocket where all of Chloe's playful teasing is usually housed, instead. Beca's only been in the Beale home for a few days now, but she's already very fond of Mrs. Beale.

Beca wryly thinks that it probably isn't all _that _surprising, given her affectionate feelings for Chloe.

"I've told you, sweetheart; Leina is perfectly fine," Chloe's mom laughs lightly. "You're so well-mannered," she shakes her head. "We don't stand on courtesy here, though. You'll learn that quickly enough, I suppose, when the rest of Chloe's siblings come back to town."

Beca's met Kylar, obviously, and she and Chloe had picked up Claire (surprisingly _not_ a redhead, but pretty close, with a pretty strawberry blonde ponytail that drops midway down her back, most days) from the airport the day before, but Beca knows that Kayla is set to arrive sometime in the next few days, too, and Chloe's brothers – Caleb and Clinton – are due next week.

Beca's been working very hard not to confuse the faces with the names, matching pictures from numerous photo albums that have been presented to her since her arrival, but, honestly, how the fuck did Mr. and Mrs. Beale think that anything in their household would come easily with all those Ks and Cs and Ls to confuse everyone?

"Hi, Mama," Chloe smiles back, muting the television. "How was the mall?"

"Busy, as is to be expected this time of year," Leina laughs softly. "Your father and I were going to head to Jeeter's for dinner and a drink here in a few minutes. We wondered if the two of you would like to join us."

"Sure," Chloe says happily. "That sounds like fun, right, Becs?"

Beca nods agreeably, and smiles at the older woman, before frowning, and asking, "What's Jeeter's?"

"It's a bar," Chloe explains. "They have food there, too, but the atmosphere is too… bar-like to call it a restaurant," Chloe laughs. "It's fun. You'll like it, I promise."

"Okay," Beca shrugs. "Do I have time for a shower, first?"

"Of course," Leina chuckles. "We're certainly not going hungry here, honey. Take your time."

"Thanks," Beca smiles appreciatively, and saves the mix that she's working on before closing the lid of her laptop, sitting up to place it on the coffee table. "I'll go get ready, then."

Leina smiles and nods before excusing herself from the room.

Beca stands up and stretches, curving her neck with a groan as she realizes that she probably, definitely should _not _have kept it so uncomfortably positioned for so long. There's an ache that's settled there, and a kink that Beca really hopes some hot water will wash away.

"I'll come, too," Chloe murmurs.

Beca raises her brows and turns to face her, but the look on Chloe's face – dark, dilated blue eyes scanning the length of Beca's body and her lower lip tugged tellingly between her teeth until pink has paled into white – is enough for Beca to know _exactly_ what she's thinking.

"Oh no," Beca shakes her head. She then hisses, "We can't- do _that_ in your parents' house, Chloe."

"Of course we can," Chloe dismisses huskily. "I'm definitely not having you with me for a whole month without fucking you at all, Beca," she informs carelessly. "I'm pretty sure my parents are well aware that it'll be happening, anyway."

It's a fair point, Beca guesses, because she'd be lying – so, _so_ lying – if she said that she didn't want it; that she didn't _desperately_ long to touch every inch of Chloe's body with her fingers and take that delicate skin between her lips.

But- it's still her parents' _house_, and that- can't be okay.

"Chloe, I don't think – "

"I don't care," Chloe giggles. "C'mon. Let's go shower."

Beca sighs heavily, but eventually nods.

She _knows_ Chloe, and, despite the playful giggle, Beca is more than aware that Chloe is determined to make this happen. And when Chloe is determined, a fucking nuclear _bomb_ couldn't divert the redhead from her intended path.

Plus, Beca's resolve is only half-hearted, anyway, because she _does_ want Chloe. Beca _always_ wants Chloe. It's almost embarrassing – and it would be, if Beca didn't have the obvious confirmation that Chloe feels the same fucking way.

So Beca rolls her eyes at herself and allows Chloe to take her hand, pulling Beca behind her until they reach her room, where Chloe promptly closes and locks the door.

Beca supposes she should just be grateful for the individual bathrooms afforded to each member of the Beale family, because – while her desire for Chloe is unmatched by most anything else in the world – Beca would _balk_ at the suggestion of shower sex if said shower was shared between Chloe and any of her siblings.

They're barely in the room for two seconds before Chloe's mouth is on her, insistently pulling against her lips with an instant, soft moan the moment that they connect together. The noise affects Beca more than she thinks should even be allowed, darting a sharp, unmistakable pang of want straight to the pit of her stomach that suddenly makes her feel _urgent_.

Beca's hands rise, one curling around Chloe's lower back and the fingers of her opposite palm threading through locks of magnificently scented red hair. Beca pulls Chloe tighter, and Chloe falls into the pressure more than willingly, shoving Beca up against the door as her body blankets over Beca's.

Beca knows she should be used to this; there must be a point, eventually, where kissing Chloe Beale ceases to be this _overwhelming_, after all, but if that point is ever meant to arrive, Beca's certainly not reaching it today.

"God, I missed this," Chloe breathes into her mouth, her chest rising and falling sharply with her breasts pressed into Beca's, her thigh edging teasingly between Beca's legs and gently lifting upward. "I love touching you, Becs; I love it so much," Chloe tells her, a frantic edge to her words that informs Beca that her need is matched in Chloe.

"I miss it, too," Beca murmurs in reply, grazing her lips over Chloe's cheek until she meets with her ear. "You're so beautiful, Chloe."

The redhead whines softly, but Beca can't be sure if it's the whispered admission that causes it, or the nip that she delivers to Chloe's earlobe immediately afterward.

Maybe it's the combination.

Beca isn't sure, but she also doesn't really care; whatever it is, she's determined to provoke that noise out of Chloe's chest again, and she succeeds just a moment later, when her tongue flickers out to taste the flesh beneath the redhead's ear.

"Oh, god," Chloe gasps. "Clothes. Becs, clothes. We don't- we don't have much time, okay?"

Beca flinches a little at the reminder of where they _are_, and the plans that they have for dinner with Chloe's parents, soon, but Chloe doesn't allow her much time to stress over it, slipping her palm up to cover Beca's stomach for just a second, pushing hard against it as she gasps again when Beca's teeth scrape over the curve of her jaw.

"Oh my God," Chloe hisses.

It takes all of two seconds, at most, before Chloe tears Beca's shirt over her head and tugs demandingly against the belt loops of Beca's jeans to pull her off of the door. Beca follows willingly, flitting her fingers down the (infuriatingly difficult) buttons of Chloe's pretty blue top with a quickness that Beca herself is mildly impressed with, given her arousal.

Chloe's hands fly to the clasp of Beca's jeans and waste no time undoing them as the redhead presses their mouths together with vehemence that might have startled Beca, if she wasn't giving it back to Chloe in spades, tonguing caverns in Chloe's mouth that Beca's quickly refamiliarizing herself with.

Their clothes are gone (haphazardly dropped, or swung to the floor of Chloe's bedroom) by the time they reach the shower. Chloe doesn't even break from Beca's mouth long enough to look at the tap, simply stretching her hand behind her and frantically twisting it until the sound of water touches their ears.

Beca's hand lifts from Chloe's waist to cradle her breast, hugging it with a little more pressure than might be considered necessary, but if the hot, needy moan that hums from Chloe's mouth and directly into Beca's is anything to judge by, Chloe doesn't seem to mind at _all_. The pebbling of Chloe's nipple against her palm is all the confirmation that Beca needs, really, so she squeezes it again – a little rougher – when Chloe's mouth drops to Beca's throat to take the skin there between her teeth, sucking hard against it.

"Fuck," Beca groans, holding Chloe's head against her neck with fingers that unknowingly cinch tighter around the strands of Chloe's hair.

"Shower," Chloe insists between kisses. "God, get in the fucking shower, Beca."

_Ugh_. Beca really needs her to stop swearing when they get like this. It's fucking hot – hotter than the flames that lick at Satan's boots, Beca is absolute _certain_ – but Beca's body reacts to it so fiercely, and so _intensely_, and it always makes her feel far too wet, far too quickly.

But Beca obeys Chloe's demand, stepping into the tub with her palm strained out behind her to press against the wall, ensuring a stability that Beca's almost positive she would collapse without. Chloe follows blindly, fingers clenched hard around Beca's hips and her nails carving into Beca's flesh.

Beca barely notices that the water is scorching hot, and Chloe doesn't seem at all concerned with it, because they're hardly under the spray of the water (Chloe pushed more into it than Beca is) before Chloe drops to her knees.

"Jesus fuck," Beca hisses when Chloe lowers an open-mouthed kiss just above her bikini line, her tongue flitting out teasingly before she skips over Beca's desperate heat to layer a few sloppy kisses to Beca's inner thighs.

"I wanna taste you," Chloe groans delightfully.

It's so quiet that Beca has to strain to hear it over the whir of rushing water, but when she does, she moans and uselessly curls the fingers of her hand against the wall behind her into a fist that provides a somehow satisfying ache to her knuckles.

"God, I've dreamed of this for _months_, Becs," Chloe murmurs, tonguing the juncture between Beca's thigh and her throbbing sex. "I'm gonna taste you," Chloe decides.

And, mother_fucker_, she decides quickly, abruptly licking a trail from Beca's drenched center to her clit before Chloe moans into it, the vibrations spiraling Beca into a dark, needy place that drives her to roll her hips against Chloe's face with her hand still holding firmly in the back of Chloe's hair.

"Fuck, you taste so good, Becs," Chloe whimpers, but doesn't say much else, rubbing one palm feverishly up and down Beca's hip and side and upper thigh while the other meets beneath her mouth (settled, finally, over Beca's clit), and plunges three fingers into Beca's core.

"Oh my _God_," Beca grunts out, dropping her head momentarily back to rest against the tile wall, her arm still stretching (in a manner that somehow feels delicious) behind her back.

Chloe's fingers are quick and emergent, thrusting hard inside of Beca as Chloe curls the middle one in a gesture that Beca has only ever felt from Chloe alone, and it drives Beca fucking _crazy_.

"Jesus, don't stop, Chlo," Beca pleads, arching her hips even harder against Chloe's mouth.

"Won't," Chloe promises shortly, before suckling Beca's clit into her mouth and humming against it until Beca is positive that she's never been so close to coming without actually _doing_ it.

But Chloe's curled finger finds the spongy flesh of Beca's inner walls, and Beca releases a quiet cry of utter _completion_ not a second after, as her lids bunch together and a whirlwind of sensation accosts her body.

Beca swears she's never felt orgasms as powerful or as wonderful or as purely _magical_ as the ones that Chloe provides.

She grants herself ten seconds of heavy pants to refuel her lungs before she opens her eyes and gazes down at Chloe; the redhead's eyes are dazed, and a tiny smile is curling up the corners of her mouth with seemingly hundreds of tiny water droplets cascading the length of her face.

Beca wishes she could force her thoughts to a more sophisticated level of eloquence, but the only clear notion that occurs to her is that Chloe Beale is fucking sexy as _hell._

So Beca summarily yanks a couple of rough times against Chloe's hair.

It takes Chloe a moment – plainly jolted by Beca's intense reactions to her, and evidently proud of herself for provoking them – but once she understands Beca's silent request, she hastily scrambles up to her feet so swiftly that the only thing preventing her from slipping on the floor of the tub is the hand the Beca darts out to her hip to steady her.

Beca fuses her mouth to Chloe's, purring with satisfaction when she tastes herself on Chloe's lips.

"Please," Chloe whimpers. "Becs, _please_. Fuck me quickly," she pleads senselessly.

Beca obliges.

She's trying really hard not to think about it, but Beca knows they're crunched for time. She sweeps her hand up Chloe's ribs and back down again, until her hand meets with the almost startlingly soaked center of Chloe's entire being. She wants to thrust inside of her, but that takes longer, and Chloe's evidently ready to come right away, anyway, so Beca flattens her fingers and rubs the pads of them in a fervent pace over Chloe's clit.

"_Yes!_" Chloe gasps, her nails slicing into the back of Beca's neck as the words whisper humidly over Beca's cheek. "Oh god, oh god, oh god."

Beca _knows_ she just came, but, fucking Christ, she could probably do it all over again if Chloe keeps keening like that, because it's almost enough to make Beca forget the mind-blowing orgasm that Chloe had given her before it.

She slides her mouth into the juncture between Chloe's neck and shoulder, and bites down against the cord of muscle that stretches between them.

Chloe moans, long, and unrestrained, and probably way too fucking loud, but Beca just forgets to care and focuses everything that she has on releasing Chloe from her obvious sexual torment.

"Come for me, babe," Beca rasps.

Beca doesn't know why, or how, but her words seem to grant Chloe a hard shove that her fingers alone would have taken a few moments longer to achieve. The redhead mewls out a low sound that strikes in Beca's gut, before Beca's cheeks are cradled in her palms and Chloe's lips are moving with relative calmness over Beca's mouth.

Chloe breaks away, her eyelids fluttering open and shut like she isn't sure which view is better (the sight of the fireworks flashing beneath her lids, or the sight of Beca flushed and half-damp in front of her), breathing heavily against Beca's lips.

"We're super awesome at this," Chloe puffs out eventually.

"You're super _loud_ at that," Beca smirks. "You better hope your sisters didn't hear."

Chloe flaps her hand with an amusing mixture of both impatience and negligence, before sighing softly and folding her lips across the corner of Beca's, once more, for a lazy, gratified kiss that lingers for little other purpose than just to taste one another.

"I- still need to take a shower," Beca ventures a moment later, after allowing Chloe a sufficient amount of time to collect herself.

Chloe releases an airy sound of laughter, before teasingly muttering, "That sounds vaguely familiar to me."

* * *

It takes Beca a solid twenty minutes before she can look either of the Beale parents in the eyes without blushing, but, overall, the ride to the bar isn't all that bad. Mr. and Mrs. Beale smile knowingly like they're _sure_ of what just happened between the two, but they don't tease or comment, and Chloe just babbles away like everything's fine, so Beca's silence is slightly less noticeable.

"Think they'd let her get away with ordering a drink?" Harper asks, grinning broadly once they're seated at a table in the bar.

"Oh, Harper," Leina scoffs lightly, "she's nineteen."

"And you look small enough to be in middle school," Chloe giggles, reaching her hand up to pinch Beca's cheek between her fingers.

Beca scowls and swats her wrist. "It'll be fine. I doubt they'll ask for an ID," she shrugs.

"Yeah, okay," Chloe chuckles, picking up her menu. "Ohh, I want nachos!" She decides instantly, before shoving her menu under Beca's, held between her fingers.

Beca rolls her eyes.

"That does sound good," Leina agrees, smiling warmly over at them. "What about you, Beca?"

"Spinach dip," Beca all but groans. "I don't know why, but I love it so much."

"That's just an appetizer," Chloe tells her grinning.

"I don't even _care_," Beca shakes her head. "I want it."

"Then have it, you shall," Harper booms happily.

Harper Beale, Beca has come to realize in her brief time in Maryland, is a very loud man; very kind, but that pocket of playfulness that she had earlier mused on in Chloe was clearly sewn in there by the Beale family patriarch.

They order their food when a casually dressed barman clothed in jeans and a t-shirt approaches the table, and when it comes to Beca's turn, she breezily adds, in addition to her spinach dip, "And I'll have a margarita."

Chloe snickers and clenches Beca's wrist over the table – and then promptly drops her jaw at the waiter's turned back when he merely nods and scrawls it into his notepad with a smile and a promise to return soon.

"What the fuck?"

"Chloe Elizabeth Beale!" Leina chides.

"Sorry, but- _what?_ How did that even just happen?" She asks with wide eyes and a flexing jaw. "_He even carded _me!"

"She's got that attitude," Harper says, almost proudly, nodding enthusiastically.

Beca smirks and tips her head smugly in his direction as acknowledgment of the assertion.

"_What?_" Chloe demands.

Beca shrugs. "People don't really ask me questions. It's kinda weird, but I'm not exactly complaining."

"This is ridiculous. I don't even – "

"Hi there."

Beca brows rise, spying a relatively tall kid either around or between her and Chloe's ages, with a charming smile and silky black hair that flops messily around his ears.

"Hi!" Chloe chirps back happily.

… Because it's _totally_ not weird for a strange boy to approach their table with Chloe's parents in attendance, Beca thinks with a snort.

Although, in hindsight, it probably really isn't weird for Chloe; they practically met in a shower, for Christ's sake, and this is infinitely less awkward than _that._ But still… it's definitely weird, as far as Beca is concerned – bar or no bar.

"I just- saw you from over there," the boy continues, nodding to what is presumably his table, and Beca's eyes comically widen about to the size of quarters when she realizes that the boy's directing the statement at _her_. Not Chloe, the obvious (and clearly more affable) choice. This kid is talking to _her_. "I'm Peter. I just- thought I'd stop by and say hello. I haven't seen you around here before. Where are you from?"

"Seriously?" Beca asks vacantly, narrowing her eyes.

She can practically _feel_ Chloe vibrating with only-just-barely refrained laughter, the redhead's fingers white-knuckling around Beca's wrist and her teeth probably drawing blood out of her bottom lip.

"You're seriously doing this right now?" Beca elaborates, lofting her brows basically into her hairline.

"Yeah, sure," the kid grins confidently. "Why not? Come on, it can't hurt, right? Where are you from?" He encourages.

Beca blinks, then offers an exaggeratedly sweet smile, and says, "Well, I spent some time inside my mother's womb a while back, but, you know, I realized eight months in that it probably wasn't a suitable permanent address, and, between you and me, I think I outgrew the place."

The boy actually chuckled.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Dude," Beca snaps abruptly. "_Go away."_

He had the audacity to blink bemusedly, but the winsome grin that had moments ago seemed etched into his face slowly gave way to a frown as realization overcame him. He nods with a dark red blush and hastily scampers back to a group of fraternity-looking douchebags eagerly awaiting his return.

Harper belts out several barks of laughter, and Leina hides her own amusement behind the fingers that lift to cover her mouth, but several snickers still emerge from her, too, so Beca's momentary fear of disapproval quickly abates.

"Ohmygod, you're the _worst_," Chloe insists, bright red in the cheeks with the laughter that she's forcefully trapping within her chest.

"I am not," Beca argues, offended. "It's not my fault that the kid clearly has zero inclination toward self-preservation, Chloe," she frowns, but presses a smile of thanks toward the waiter when he lowers her food and drink in front of her.

"He was being _nice_, Becs!" Chloe laughs, finally _ – _louder, somehow, for every second she withheld it. "And what does that even _mean?_" Chloe whines pathetically, clearly upset with herself for giving in to the hilarity.

"Chlo," Beca puffs out, "take a hard look at me, okay? Now, tell me: which part of my appearance stamps, 'please approach; I'm friendly,' across my forehead, huh?" Beca asks, raising her brows and batting Chloe's hand away as it reaches for a chip off of Beca's plate.

Chloe pouts. "You were _mean_."

Beca rolls her eyes and shoves her plate between the two of them.

Chloe claps excitedly for a moment, before snatching up a chip and scooping some of the dip onto it, promptly chomping down on it and pleasurably groaning out, "You're the greatest."

Beca snorts. "Ten seconds ago I was the worst."

"Ten seconds ago you weren't offering me your spinach dip," Chloe beams, like all is forgiven.

"Ten seconds ago I actually had spinach dip to _offer_ you," Beca frowns, eyeing the significant crater in her bowl with a pout. "Jesus, Chloe, don't take it _all_," she huffs.

"… And it took the two of you a _year_ to figure out you're in love?" Harper asks cheekily, his ensuing grin practically breaking his freaking face.

Beca scowls at him and elects not to comment.

* * *

_Author's Note: _Two updates in one day! Woo! I'm a writing _powerhouse_, today, guys. Super proud of myself. Also, this one's longer than the others, but I really imagined that scene at the end so many freaking times that I wanted to make sure I included it in this chapter. Let me know what you think! And, holy acapella, I'm blown away by the response to this story, guys. _Thank you so much_, and keep the reviews coming, if you like it! Or if you don't, too, I guess… but I much prefer the former! ; )


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